Presages
by Jinnie
Summary: When you're in love, how far will you go? AU from AFA through S3. S&V, J&I, ensemble. Warnings for torture, character death(s), possible reinterpreted spoilers, and a contrivance-free Lauren. Updated 11.02.
1. Flipped Coin

- **Title**: Presages  
- **Author**: A. Jinnie McManus   
- **Rating**: PG-13   
- **Spoilers/Timeline**: Begins directly at the end of "A Free Agent." All episodes aired afterwards do not apply to this AU story, though some elements have been incorporated. Conversely, all elements prior to AFA, both on and off camera, fully apply to my plot. Spoilers for at least the episodes prior to AFA, and probably most after it.  
- **Summary**: Love can both condemn and conquer. Sloane captures S/V in Zurich. AU from "A Free Agent" on.  
- **Disclaimer**: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended.   
- **'Ship**: S/V, J/I, some others.   
- **Archiving**: Ask first.   
  
**Author's Note**: Welcome to Jinnie's longfic followup to her _Surmising Alliances_ surprising success. This one is focused more on drama, but no worries, plenty of humor also appears. I hope. This has no relation to _SA_, BTW, other than being longer.   
  
(FYI:_ On the Brink _will conclude tomorrow. I'm just impatient to get this started.)  


**PRESAGES**

**_Chapter One - Flipped Coin_**

"And you, my dear... you'll be driving me out of here." Almost lazily, he tossed her the keys, which she reflexively caught one-handed. 

"And what makes you think I won't take the opportunity to drive you into a building?" Sydney asked icily, fingering the keys. Beside her, Vaughn's anxious gaze was almost palpable. "Even if I die, the world will be a better place without you in it." 

"Ah," Sloane smiled. "I have the ultimate insurance. My ride will be the envy of all other chauffeured riders, dear Sydney. You've already demonstrated your willingness to do whatever it takes to keep those you care about safe, even if it means going against everything you stand for and aiding in cold-blooded murder." 

Vaughn stiffened, eyes hardening as the truth behind Sloane's "insurance" began to dawn on him. 

"Mr. Vaughn will be joining us on our little car ride," Sloane informed her mildly. "I trust you'll utilize your considerable talents to give us all a smooth drive?" 

"Coward!" Sydney bit out, after a few precious seconds of stunned silence during which Vaughn looked at her sharply, trying to order her with his eyes to not even consider Sloane's offer, which she ignored deliberately. "Hiding behind an innocent man-" 

The former head of SD-6 chuckled. "He's hardly a civilian, Agent Bristow. In fact," he turned his attention to Vaughn, "if I am to understand things correctly, I owe you as much gratitude for getting The Alliance out of my way as I do the Bristows. You have my thanks." 

"The pleasure was all mine," Vaughn returned drolly. 

Sloane nodded appreciably, amused by his tone. "I have a feeling I'm going to enjoy getting to know you, Mr. Vaughn." Bending, he picked up both discarded revolvers, tucking one in his shirt and aiming the other squarely at Vaughn. Sydney flinched. 

Still smiling broadly, he stepped forward to Vaughn's right side and pressed the gun against him, gesturing with the hand holding the remote detonator for Sydney, who held the suitcase, to precede them. Vaughn's jaw clenched, enraged at being used in such a manner, but currently unable to do anything about it. 

"Shall we?" 

* * *

Sark watched with interest via satellite as the three of them walked slowly towards a blue Ford Focus. Sloane had been bluffing, of course. After such an intense obsession, the man would simply not allow himself to die before fulfilling it. 

Sydney would also be a key "ingredient" of sorts to the finished product. The prophecy had guaranteed that. Her cooperation would presumably be essential, which meant that her former handler also held a great deal of importance in their plans. 

She would do anything for him, as she had already demonstrated. And Agent Vaughn's record had proven him to hardly be the type of man that needed to hide behind a woman. Just as he was her weakness, she was his. 

* * *

Weiss paced nervously by the helicopter, listening with growing horror to the conversation between Mike, Sydney and Sloane that the L.A. office had connected him into. 

"Jack?" he said into his receiver. "We're standing by to get them out." 

No answer. 

* * *

"Jack, I can understand your feelings, but-" 

"Patronizing may work with your FBI agents, Director Kendall, but it will _not_ work with me. I am aware that what I am planning to do goes against policy." 

"Good. May I remind you that Sloane is _right there_? Completely out in the open and vulnerable? And yet, you want to simply let him go? I know you're just as aware as I am that the external remote detonator threat is a farce. Why not go in and take care of a wanted terrorist?" 

"The threat is doubtlessly a hoax, yes. But by taking care of Sloane right now, we run the risk of losing at least one, possibly both, of the best and most qualified agents we have to take down not only Sloane, but Sark. I will not allow that." 

"Jack, I'm going to be blunt. I know you're worried about your daughter. But the chance to take out a wanted terrorist has to take priority! Sydney would understand." 

"I'm going to be equally blunt. Do _not_ presume to speak for my daughter. And with all due respect, whose orders do you think Agent Weiss, the ranking agent pursuing the three of them, will listen to? My orders, which will save the lives of his friends, or yours, which will condemn them?" 

Kendall said nothing. 

"I'm going to give Agent Weiss the go now," Jack told him coldly. "And if this little chat delay costs me my daughter, I will be _very_ upset." 

**- to be continued -**  
I update daily if I receive at least 10 reviews per chapter. Otherwise, see you in two days!


	2. One or All

**_Chapter Two - One or All _**

Sydney took a deep breath as she walked swiftly under orders to the Focus, her former boss having decided as they walked that it would be safer to take a car that wouldn't possibly be bugged or booby-trapped. Vaughn and Sloane followed at a slower pace. Both of them watched the surrounding police warily, Sloane inclining his head meaningfully toward the gun buried in the CIA Agent's side, and Vaughn trying his best to gesture warningly toward the remote detonator in his captor's other hand. 

Her thoughts tracked wildly as the Focus loomed closer. What she was about to try could possibly result in all of their deaths if Sloane wasn't bluffing, but better to die quickly and on her terms than be at the mercy of a psychopath. 

Without daring to communicate her idea, she stopped abruptly and threw her leg behind her. As she had hoped, Sloane had urged Vaughn faster so that they were close behind her. Her legs tangled immediately in his, causing her former handler to stumble. 

Vaughn didn't waste the chance he'd been given, exaggerating his fall enough to pull completely away from Sloane. His hand flew to his ankle and the knife that then flew from his hand collided almost immediately with the remote detonator Sloane held, knocking it away. Sydney also advantage of the distraction to vault forward in a tackle, trying to kick away the gun Sloane still gripped. But sensing her move, even as he fought to stem the bleeding in his knife-wounded hand, Sloane whirled away from her and fired with his unwounded one. Sydney stopped immediately, horrified. 

"VAUGHN!" 

The bullet slammed mercilessly into Vaughn's chest, driving him fully to the ground. He grunted, his hands forming fists as he fought to deal with the pain. The vest he had worn almost as an afterthought had saved his life, true, but it still hurt. Sensing Sydney's horror, however, he forced himself to raise his head and flash a smile. _I'm okay, Syd. I'll be fine._ She relaxed visibly. 

Breathing almost as heavily as the agent he'd just shot, Sloane pulled Sydney's gun out of his suit pocket and aimed at her, pointing the other revolver down at Vaughn, who was clearly struggling to put his pain behind him. 

"Here's how this is going to work, children," Sloane said, his tone maddeningly calm, even as the police sensed a chance and began tracking sniper rifles towards the terrorist. "All three of us will leave together, or I will leave alone and you two will become stars on a wall. What do you say?" 

Sydney closed her eyes briefly, before opening them and staring at Vaughn. Her partner sat up with obvious difficulty, jaw clenched in pain. His eyes locked with hers, his wishes unmistakable. _He's distracted. Get out of here! I'll handle it. Get out of here!_

She shook her head slowly, eyes brimming with tears. _I left you behind once_, she thought toward him silently. _I will _not_ make that mistake again._ He sighed deeply in resignation, understanding her as easily as if she had spoken aloud. 

"What's your decision?" 

"Stand down!" Sydney barked to the police as they moved closer, fingering the suitcase in her right hand. "Stand down or be responsible for the death of at least one American agent!" They backed away. 

Vaughn, meanwhile, pulled himself to his feet, one hand resting lightly over the embedded bullet. He didn't blink when Sloane promptly raised his own gun in line with his temple, simply nodded slowly in acquiescence. Sydney followed that by holding open her empty hand, gripping the magnetometer loosely in her other one. 

"I knew you both would make the right choice," Sloane said warmly, his tone now that of a proud father. "Now, I think you've stalled long enough. Let's depart, please." 

They reached the car. Sark continued to watch via satellite, fascinated, as Sloane gave Agent Vaughn a light shove into the backseat and followed him in while Sydney set the magnetometer on the passenger seat and started the Focus. 

* * *

When their earpieces clicked, Vaughn and Sydney were both so tense that they barely managed to control their surprised reactions in time. 

"Sydney, if you can hear me, clear your throat. Agent Vaughn, do not react." 

Without showing her sudden hope in any way, Sydney did so. Meanwhile, in the backseat, Vaughn continued his staring contest of sorts with their captor. 

"An extraction team is on the way," Jack informed them, hiding his anxiety in his business-like tone. "Their goal is to get both of you out and then, if the opportunity is there, to handle Sloane. Agent Weiss is on point. ETA 10 minutes." 

Sydney stiffened, not liking her father's priorities but not daring to object. _Not that I could anyway._

"Distract him, Sydney," Jack ordered. "Vaughn, I would suggest that you, on the other hand, continue to cooperate fully." 

_If this were any other day or he was any other person, I would think Jack Bristow just made a joke_, Vaughn thought dryly, already quite aware that his own service pistol was currently aimed precisely between his eyes. 

* * *

_"We're on our way for pickup, sir. According to the conversation I've tapped into, our guests are due for extraction by their allies in 10. Our ETA is 5."_

Sloane cleared his throat. 

* * *

"The CIA has a hit list. Thirty-five people worldwide its agents are allowed to kill. Thirty-five out of six billion. You're one of them," Sydney informed him, half mocking, half _dead_ serious. "Which means when I kill you, I won't even be breaking the law." 

Vaughn frowned inwardly. _Syd, I don't think that's what your dad meant when he said to distract him._

Sure enough, Jack's voice rang through the earpiece clearly. "_Sydney, I said to_ occupy _him, not_ aggravate _him_." 

"Ah, Sydney," Sloane sighed, his aim at Vaughn never wavering. "I told you not to come after me. I warned you that I would kill you if you interfered!" 

"You'll have to kill me first," Vaughn informed him, dimly aware of the fact that his threat wasn't currently even remotely intimidating, but still needing to make it known. "And _then_ you'll have to kill Jack Bristow." 

Even Sydney smirked at the thought of _that_ competition. _Dad would make him suffer._

"I was wondering when you would join the conversation, Agent Vaughn," Sloane said, his tone almost jovial. "I'd known for a while that Sydney was meeting an agent matching your description quite regularly, but it wasn't until your little venture in Níce that I was able to learn your identity." 

"That's pretty disappointing for a man versed in Intel," Vaughn returned. Sydney's jaw dropped. _Don't _you_ make him mad either, idiot! _I'm_ not the one he's pointing a gun at!_

"I concur," Sloane replied, genuinely amused. "Though Mr. Sark may be somewhat inclined to disagree. He's responsible for all of my legwork." 

"Sark as a lackey?" Vaughn raised a brow. "The boy really will do anything to make a buck." 

"Vaughn!" Sydney hissed, unable stop herself. _What're you _doing_?_

"It's all right, Sydney," Sloane soothed. He looked at the man under his gun. Vaughn met his stare with a sardonic gaze of his own, though his eyes were hard. 

"You seem like a respectable young man," Sloane said to him. "I must say, I'm glad for that. I've always thought of Sydney as a daughter, you know. She has had many trials in her life, mostly because of me, admittingly, and she needs someone she can rely on. That's partly why I didn't pull this trigger when you showed such disrespect to people _I_ rely on." 

"Are you looking for gratitude?" Vaughn snapped, astonished. 

"No," he replied. "I just wanted you to know my feelings regarding you. And that I almost feel guilty about this because of those feelings. Almost." 

With that, Sloane reversed his grip on Vaughn's gun swiftly and pistol-whipped him across the face, _hard_. He crumpled instantly, unconscious before he slumped against the leather of the backseat. 

"Vaughn!" Sydney cried, nearly driving off the road in horror. 

"Keep driving," Sloane ordered her. "I know the CIA is on the way, but _my_ allies are closer. Mr. Sark?" 

_"ETA 1 minute."_

**- to be continued -**

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2 days or 10 reviews? 


	3. Missed Meetings

**_Chapter Three - Missed Meetings_**

Jack slammed his hand down on the desk, utterly infuriated. "Agent Weiss?" he barked into the receiver. "Where are you?" 

"Sir, the _damn_ cars only go up to 180," Weiss responded. "But I think we're going 230 in the 'chopper. They are _not_ taking Mike and Syd-" he remembered who he was talking to - "_Agent Bristow_. Sir. We'll get there." 

"What's your ETA?" 

"2 minutes." 

* * *

Sydney continued to drive, anxiously watching the rearview mirror more than the road. Vaughn sat sprawled in the backseat, completely out, a trickle of blood running down his face. 

So intent was she on watching her lover that she entirely missed the white, unmarked moving truck that appeared alongside her. Her eyes widened with startled realization. 

"Stop the car," Sloane ordered her. Bewildered, she didn't hear him. 

"Stop the car," he barked again, this time resting the gun lightly against the unconscious Vaughn's temple and taking care that she could easily see his actions in the rearview mirror. She obeyed, but stopped far harder than necessary. _Maybe, just maybe, I can throw him forward a little and grab the gun._

Sloane, predicting her plan, braced himself against the doorframe firmly with his free hand. She sighed, temporarily deflated. The Focus rolled to a halt. 

"Mr. Sark, have the driver move in position, please." 

The truck pulled in front of them. The ramp lowered. 

Sydney's jaw dropped. It was all eerily similar to a ruse used by her and her father months earlier. _But that would mean…_

Sloane, sensing her surprise, flashed her a smile in the mirror. "Like I said, Sydney. I've known everything about you _and your father_ for a _long_ time." 

* * *

"Sir, there's no one here." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I _mean_, sir, that there's no one here. Anything on satellite?" 

"No, Agent Weiss." 

"Damn!" Eric exploded, kicking the tires of one of the government cars in frustration. 

Back at the Operations Center, Jack Bristow threw down his receiver with such force that it shattered on impact. Ignoring the sudden silence that engulfed the rest of the room at his uncontrolled eruption of anger, he turned on his heel and stormed out. 

**_--_**

Sensory perceptions rushed back to Michael Vaughn in a merciless, dizzying array of sights and sounds. He groaned, unable to stop it. The part of his mind that was somehow still functioning noted dully that he probably had a mild concussion. 

"Vaughn?" 

The voice was a mere whisper, but his desire to shake himself fully awake doubled at the sound of Sydney's concerned voice. He blinked, fighting to reassert his control. 

"Come now, Mr. Vaughn. It was only a light knock." 

_Sark._ Anger, he realized, was almost as effective as adrenaline when it came to reawakening him. After only few more minutes, he was able to open his eyes fully and look around. What he saw made him wonder if perhaps he'd been hit harder than he thought and was delusional, because it appeared for all the world like he was still sitting inside the Focus. 

Which sat _inside_ a _moving_ white truck. 

_Well. Interesting._

* * *

"He's awake. The test is working flawlessly, Sydney isn't resisting us at all since Mr. Vaughn is unable to fend for himself." 

"Sydney has very few weaknesses, Mr. Sark. Mr. Vaughn is one of them. We are nearing the jet. Prepare them, please." 

* * *

Oblivious to the guards, oblivious to Sark, and oblivious to their current situation as a whole, Sydney effortlessly maneuvered her way to the back of the Focus. 

Vaughn slouched low in his seat, seemingly unaware that she had joined him. She swallowed hard, her worry for her boyfriend increasing at the sight of him, eyes closed and body slumped exhaustedly against the leather. 

Hand shaking, she reached over to stroke his hair, mind working frantically to recall long-ago first aid seminars He stirred at her touch, something she was immensely grateful for. One thing she _did_ remember: people with head injuries ran the risk of sinking into a coma if they fell asleep. _Keep him awake, Sydney!_

"You okay?" she blurted. 

"Fine," Vaughn replied, somehow managing to keep his eyes open. In reality, he now _knew_ he had a concussion, due to the fact that he was about to be sick. But he had to be strong. For her. Not out of some desire to have a strong masculine image, but because he knew, from the experience borne out of countless missions, that if he allowed himself to fall apart, she would follow him. 

She would follow him anywhere, just as he would follow her. 

"How are _you_, Syd?" 

"Fine," she mimicked. Hesitantly, not wanting to hurt him further, she dabbed lightly at his split lip with a cloth given to her by one of the guards. "That's gotta sting." 

"It doesn't tickle," he replied, tensing slightly. Outside the Focus, the guards' activity had suddenly increased. 

"They took our earpieces," Sydney told him softly, taking advantage of the nearness her ministrations required to whisper directly in his ear. "And the knife I had hidden on my ankle. And the pocketknife in your jacket pocket." 

"Is that all?" Vaughn breathed, enjoying her closeness in spite of himself. "What _are_ you worried about?" 

She scowled at him. Vaughn sighed, recognizing that determined look well. 

"Vaughn, what were you _doing_?" she demanded. "Were you _trying_ to get Sloane to shoot you?" 

"Yes," he replied honestly. 

She stared at him, aghast. "_What?_" 

"I was hoping he would shoot me and be so distracted in the process that he wouldn't notice you jumping out of the car," Vaughn informed her. "The car would then drive off the road. You'd be safe, Sloane would be dead and I'd be reunited with my father. It was a win-win." 

Her jaw dropped. "You're serious." 

"Yes. Sydney, you were putting me ahead of what needed to be accomplished. We can't do that. I was trying to remove that option." 

She hit him then. Not hard, but still firmly enough to make a point. 

"Ouch!" he protested. 

"You listen to me," Sydney hissed. "You try that idea again and you'll wake up with more than a concussion!" 

He sighed. "Syd, like I said, the mission is what's important. Sloane and Sark are _both_ here. The world will be a better place when they're dead. And if you have to choose between the countless lives that will be saved when they're gone or _my_ life, well…" 

"And if _you_ had to choose?" Sydney demanded harshly. 

He couldn't answer her, his breath catching at the thought. 

"That's what I thought," she snapped. Vaughn sighed again, this time in frustration. His head ached, he had just lost a word play argument to the one person in the world that knew how to defeat him, _and_ they were captured and probably facing imminent torture and execution. 

Which meant that the fact that all he wanted to do was pull the aforementioned woman to him and kiss her was _very_ out of place. 

Abruptly, both doors to the backseat opened at once. They both flinched as their guards aimed bright flashlights and guns at them. 

"Out of the car, please." In direct contrast to the brutal lighting, Sark's voice was almost bland. 

**- to be continued -**

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Linda! **Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh!** :snerks: Focus, hmmm? Damn subliminal messages. GO CHEVY! 

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**2 or 10?**


	4. Naptime

**_Chapter Four - Naptime_**

Sydney refused to take her eyes off Vaughn even for a minute, as they were both dragged out onto the truck floor and shoved against each side of the Focus. Just as a precaution, both were roughly frisked again and their jackets and vests removed before guards pulled their arms behind them. Vaughn briefly rested his head on top of the Ford, fighting the disorientation that had returned with the abrupt, forced movements. 

"We are on our way to Mr. Sloane's jet," Sark said from somewhere behind them, as guards bound their wrists behind them with deceptively weak-looking cords that immediately cut into their skin, and then wound more cord around their upper arms and waists, effectively immobilizing them from the waist up. "I regret that you will both be required to rest for the duration of our flight." 

Still locking gazes with her slightly woozy boyfriend, Sydney flinched. "Mr. Vaughn has a concussion," she said, her voice brittle. Vaughn glared, annoyed at her overprotectiveness. _I can take care of myself, Sydney._ "Forcing him to sleep would be a bad idea. But I'm sure you know that already." 

"Indeed, we are aware of Mr. Vaughn's condition," Sark replied. The jarring flashlights lessened in effect as he stepped into their line of sight. "It is a necessary risk." 

He gestured. Neither had time to react before syringes were injected. Sleep was instantaneous. 

Sark waited impatiently while the guards caught the drugged prisoners when they sagged and deposited them on the truck floor. "Finish binding them," he ordered. "Blindfolds and gags as well. Do not underestimate them even for a second, or you will be the one to pay the consequences." 

He touched his earpiece. "We're ready back here." 

"Excellent," Sloane complimented. "We're arriving at the jet now. We'll be joining Caplan in Saria. I've been reading Agent Vaughn's file and the wealth of knowledge he possesses will be very useful to our operations." 

* * *

Eric Weiss did not scare easily. Nor did he anger easily. As far as he was concerned, life was too short to take things seriously. 

He was CIA after all, and thus, had seen more nightmares come to life than all of the Hollywood acting crews combined. _Even the ones that _aren't _high._ The key to living such a life, he had learned, was to just sit back and go with the flow. And it was a successful way to live. 

But today, hopelessly tailing two good friends and knowing in the back of his mind that he wouldn't be in time to save them, was causing a dangerous man to come forth. No one, _no one,_ was allowed to lay a hand on his best friend and live. _No one._

Mike called him on his overprotectiveness, of course. He wasn't _that_ much younger than Weiss himself. But while Weiss reveled in his immaturity in ways that weren't likely to get him killed unless it was out of annoyance, Mike went a very different route. It was almost as though the younger agent was not satisfied in his work results until his life was threatened; something that never failed to boggle Weiss' mind. 

And when Agent Vaughn's favorite spy was around, Mike's recklessness increased to the point that Weiss had considered handcuffing him to his chair to chill him out. Twice. No, three times. 

And now Sloane and Sark had him. Both of them. Exhausted from his flight home, Weiss buried his head in his hands from where he sat at Mike's desk, trying unsuccessfully to find something – _anything_ – that would help in the search. It had already been almost 10 hours, and though the CIA was trying every avenue, they had yet to find even a hint of where Mike and Sydney had been taken. 

With a bittersweet smile, he opened the top desk drawer and pulled out Mike's silver coin, flipping it absently. _Stay safe, buddy. We'll get you guys home. _

* * *

"Any news? I… Marshall called me. Sydney has saved my life more than times than I can count, regardless of…" Dixon paused awkwardly. "I couldn't stay away, Jack." 

Sensing the other man's inner torment, Jack allowed him dignity and kept to business. "I've asked Marshall to do nothing but watch the communications in case Agent Vaughn or Sydney manage to contact us. He's also watching the wires in case Sloane or Sark contact us with demands. So far, nothing." 

Dixon sighed. "We'll get them back, Jack. And then I'll happily disable the cameras as you repay Sloane and Sark tenfold for everything they've dared to do to Syd." 

"Sir!" 

Jack whirled. Marshall ran toward him, gesturing frantically. From the other side of the office, Agent Weiss rose from Vaughn's desk and strolled swiftly over to join them. 

"Is it Mike?" the younger agent demanded. "What'd he say?" 

"What? Oh, sorry." Marshall blinked before clarifying. "Uh, still no word from Mr. Sloane, uh, just Sloane or Sark or Syd or Mich - er, Agent Vaughn." He paused to take a breath. Weiss deflated wearily, his hope dying. Dixon flinched at the sight. 

"Then what is it, Marshall?" Jack snapped. His daughter was so extraordinary… For a moment, he had hoped… 

"Uh, I was checking outbox logs because I was bored - not that what you asked me to do is boring, but I work better when my hands are busy. Helps me focus." His head bobbed enthusiastically. "In fact, one time…" 

"Marshall!" 

"Sorry. Um, anyway, I discovered something. You know how the CIA tracks everything that leaves the building, right? On the Internet, I mean. Well, security discovered a leak a while back." 

"What do you mean by a leak? We're on a secure system, how could someone hack in?" 

"They didn't. It came from inside the building." 

Jack, Dixon and Weiss froze. "What?" Weiss said, astonished. "How?" 

"We, uh, don't know yet. But there's more. Uh… no one's looking for them anymore… Mr. Kendall canceled the search effort after I told him about the leak." 

"_What? Why?_" 

"Because of the... the CIA, uh… there's a…" 

"I canceled the search because it had the potential to compromise our security." 

They turned. Kendall stood there, his expression unreadable. 

**- to be continued - **

Review Responses

K4e: Where's Irina? Why, she's in the header of Chapter 1. And in a cell in Operations! Why do you ask? ;) I didn't skip your review, I didn't see it 'til after I posted 3! I swear! lol 

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**Hello lurkers! **

Update in 2 days, or tomorrow with ten reviews.


	5. Q & A

**_Chapter Five - Q & A_**

The only good thing about waking up this time, Vaughn decided, was that his headache was gone. 

He sighed wearily, trying to adjust his frame into a more comfortable position. But even as he did that, years of training kicked in. Acting almost on reflex, he forced himself push the fog from his mind and concentrate, analyzing his present situation with a level of methodicalness that would have made his father proud. 

- Currently he was alone, best as he could tell with a blindfold. Considering the concussion he'd been nursing, Sydney would have regained consciousness before him and figured out a way to wake him if she had been deposited in the same room. 

- He had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor in a room or section of the jet, wrists and ankles bound securely, blindfolded and gagged. The vibrations he could feel through the carpet clearly indicated that the jet was in the air. Though he strained his ears, no one was nearby, which meant they hadn't even bothered to assign a guard to him. He wondered if he should be insulted or amused. 

- Sloane knew who he was and what role he had played in destroying The Alliance, but didn't seem to care or hold a grudge. He had been taken solely to be used as a tool to manipulate Sydney for reasons unknown, headed to a destination unknown. 

_Well_, he thought sardonically, _I feel a lot better now._

First things first. Vaughn took advantage of his solitude to struggle fiercely against his restraints, grunting against his gag as the exertion caused his headache to make an abrupt comeback. Head spinning, he ceased fighting for a moment… and then froze in place when the sound of an airline door whooshing open registered. 

Foreign voices hit his ears, and he frowned slightly, struggling past his dizziness to identify the language. As he did that, rough hands jerked his gag over his chin and he took a deep breath involuntarily, finally able to fully breathe. The foreign tongue continued even as his head was propped up and a water bottle was held to his mouth, his captors clearly sharing his wish to eradicate his concussion by keeping him hydrated. _German_, his mind finally realized. He was in Germany? He was _over_ Germany? 

Duty done, the guard allowed his prisoner's head to sink back down slowly. Vaughn licked his dry lips carefully, knowing he had only seconds to ask the questions he needed to know before they replaced his gag, knowing that they very well could laugh in his face and refuse to answer anyway. And sure enough, the handkerchief around his neck was abruptly cut free. A new one was doubtlessly being readied. 

"_Wartezeit!_" he said quickly. "_Bitte! Wer sind sie?_ Wo ist die frau?" ("Wait! Please! Who are you? _Where is the woman_?") 

The man responded with a chuckle. "No questions," he said, his English clearly broken. Vaguely, Vaughn wondered why the man was answering him in English. He had to know his prisoner was proficient in what was apparently his native tongue. 

"_Aber…_" he protested, in said native tongue. "_Ich nicht…_" ("But… I don't…") 

"No questions, CIA," the man repeated, his tone amused. 

"_Bitte, gerade ein_," Vaughn persisted, not caring that his tone now held a pleading note. "_Wo ist die frau? Bitte!_" ("Please, just one. Where is the woman? Please!") 

Light laughter from the side stole his attention and he scowled inwardly. _Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not there, Michael! First year recruits know that!_

"That'll be all," Sloane said smoothly. "I'll finish taking care of our CIA guest." 

* * *

She was beautiful when she was angry. 

Sark slouched across from Sydney in a leather sofa, studying her frankly as she sat bound to a chair that was set with chains into the floor. 

"Where is Vaughn?" she asked coldly. 

He sighed, sitting up straight. "As I have told you before, Agent Bristow, Mr. Vaughn is still unconscious. We found it best to seclude him in another area of the plane." 

"If something happens to him because you _bastards_ drugged a man with a head injury, I will…" 

"You'll what?' His tone, though polite, was bored. "Continue voicing baseless threats?" 

If anything, her glare strengthened. "What is it you want?" 

"Now we're getting somewhere," Sark congratulated her. He leaned forward restlessly. "You are a very talented woman, Agent Bristow. We require your proven skills for a certain task." 

"I'm flattered." 

"I'm glad," Sark shrugged. Silence fell over them for a moment. 

"You said you want _me_," Sydney said suddenly, eyeing him sharply. 

"Indeed." 

"Then why take Vaughn? Do you really want to face _both_ of us?" Her voice was filled with cold amusement. "Not to mention the Agency will spare no expense in finding him. He's a senior officer, after all." 

"That, I have been _asked_ to answer," Sark said easily. "I at first believed Mr. Vaughn would simply be a useful pawn to ensure your compliance with Mr. Sloane's orders. And I do not doubt that in some ways, he is." 

Sydney said nothing. 

"But our sources recently acquired his file for us and Mr. Sloane was quite pleased with certain aspects. He now believes that your Mr. Vaughn will be useful to us for a very different matter." 

"That being?" 

"You are a very intelligent woman, Sydney. In time, I'm sure you will be able to discern that on your own." 

Resolutely, she ignored the compliment. "He won't help you. And neither will I." 

Sark smiled, rising and tapping his earpiece in explanation. "You will, Agent Bristow. You both will do whatever you are told. Your obvious attraction, the little moment you had in the Focus… you gave us all we needed to insure your cooperation. In a sense, you condemned each other." 

She couldn't reply, knowing that for once, Sark was correct. 

At the door, he paused and looked back at her. "We have not yet reached our final destination, so I regret that your resting period is not quite over." 

A guard entered the room, syringe in hand. 

"But you were relatively subdued during our conversation, Agent Bristow, and I do believe in rewards. Your Mr. Vaughn just awoke and shows no lasting damage from his head condition." 

The door slid shut behind him. Sydney was once again in a drugged sleep seconds later. 

**- to be continued -**   
Please forgive any language errors!

Review Responses

Mayleen: Well, thanks very much and will do! 

Kittyfantastico: How _are_ they gonna get out of this? Good question. ;) And I think Vaughn's cracking jokes and stuff for Sydney's sake. Gotta love that man. 

Nattie700: Well, thanks for the _lovely_ review! Hehe. ROTFL = Rolling on the floor laughing. I'm glad Jen and Michael make each other happy, but that's really none of my business, so I'm neutral on that topic. lol 

MvsGirl: Poor Kendall. I've never seen a good guy been more hated! ;) 

HBKSteph and Dee: LOL! Thanks for that. ;) 

MJ: All in good time. ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: Argh, I had to deal with that, too. Silly people. Answers are next chapter. ;) 

Em Mindelan: :sings: Tomorrow, tomorrow! lol. Will beta right after this is posted. 

Kay10197: Thanks much! 

Linda: :sniffles: Alas, I think that's the end of the Focus' guest appearance. What ever will we do? 

**2 or 10?**


	6. Security Breach

**_Chapter Six - Security Breach_**

"Explain to me," Jack bit off, taking care to over-enunciate each word, "exactly how _leaving_ my_ daughter_ and Agent Vaughn under the control of _two_ known terrorists is _beneficial_ to the security of this office." 

"Jack…" 

"_Now._" 

Kendall sighed, holding up a folder. "Take this." 

"What is it?" Jack's tone remained icy. 

"It's counter-intelligence's file on Michael Vaughn." 

"Wait," Weiss said blankly. "Why would counter-intelligence have a file on Mike? They only investigate agents that are suspected of committing treason." His jaw dropped. "_Wait._ There's _no_ way…" 

"Devlin notified me earlier about this situation. It seems that over the past three months, Mr. Vaughn has been in contact with a number of unapproved foreign operatives, all over the world. He's also actively pursued contact with Vladimir Pograski, who happens to be a former KGB assassin known to have ties with at least three terrorist organizations." 

He opened the file. "After his capture, agents were sent to search Agent Vaughn's apartment to see if he had left any notes or information that would aid in finding him and Agent Bristow. In the process, they copied the hard drive of his laptop." 

"And?" 

"And they discovered a program on it called Xenon. It's a decryption program that unlocks classified files. Mr. Vaughn was _not_ authorized to download it to his personal computer. In doing so, he broke the law." 

"Sir, this is ridiculous," Weiss spat. "Mike had his reasons. He's the _last_ person that would betray the U.S. _or_ the CIA! Have you forgotten about his father?" 

"Treason and downloading a program without authorization are two different things. At best, were he charged, he would face hefty fines and possible jail time," Dixon interjected quietly. "By refusing to look for him, you're condemning him to death." 

"Not necessarily," Kendall replied evenly. "We've known for some time that an insider was providing classified intel to enemies of this country via our computer network. Agent Vaughn clearly had little regard for _some_ rules, who's to say that he didn't disregard them _all_? Right now, he is the leading suspect for the security breach, especially since the leak has gone silent since Zurich. To risk agents' lives to save the life of a traitor, is _not_, nor will it _ever_ be, okay for the CIA _or_ the FBI to do." 

"Wait a minute, sir! Mike is _not-_" 

Kendall ignored him. "Who's to say that the little event in Zurich was not a hostage-taking, but a _retrieval_? Sloane clearly knew Agent Vaughn was wearing a vest, among other things. He could have given them all the info they needed so they arranged to pull him out and make it look like a kidnapping." 

"That's-" Weiss began to stammer. Jack held up a hand to forestall him. 

"That is _absurd_," Jack informed Kendall coldly. "You're pulling at straws. Agent Vaughn and I may have our share of friction between us, but even I do not hesitate in saying that he is a skilled, capable agent and a good man. By allowing this _witch hunt_ to take place, you are executing not only him, but my daughter!" 

"Your _kiddo_ is a puzzle, I'll admit," Kendall returned. "Before his little unauthorized jaunts around the world and the surrender of Irina Derevko, Vaughn and Bristow's _relationship_ was the gossip for those in the know. They seemed to trust each other. So the question is, _if_ Vaughn is a traitor, is Sydney Bristow an innocent victim, or is she once again a double agent, this time for _him_?" 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses: 

Britt: I think you reviewed like right after I updated. I didn't skip you on purpose! Really! lol. And that's a quite a good question. ;) 

Jennycraig: Anyone that takes time to review is certainly not pitiful! You're awesome! 

K4e: It's my fav so far too, I must confess. Poor Vaughn. :sniffles: 

Glitter fish: bahahaha! I LOVE your pun! (fell out of her chair). 

Kittyfantastico: You can have him all you want when the story's done. I promise. ;) And you'll see more and more Sark as the story progresses. (No worries, though, I'm a complete S/V shipper!) 

Nattie700: Switzerland? I'm more partial to Egypt, actually. ;) And will do! lol 

Mel: Will do! 

Ilovemypenguin: _On the Brink_ is finished! LOL 

Andi Horton: Glorious? :blushes: You're too kind. 

Anonymousthinker: Before this story is over, you'll see him speak at least two other languages besides German and English. ;) 

Kay10197: Yay! I hope that trend continues! 

Chinkybrowneyes: Don't worry, the Ford will be back. ;) Sort of. And I think syringes are taking over the guest star role, don't you? lol 

**2 or 10?**


	7. Misplaced Flattery

**_Chapter Seven - Misplaced Flattery_**

"You're an unusual man, Mr. Vaughn." 

Still sprawled on the floor and unable to pinpoint where exactly in the room Sloane was, it took everything Vaughn had to restrain the sarcastic comeback that rested on the tip of his tongue. He was still recovering from the _last_ time he had ignored standard hostage-cooperation training. 

"You see, I've been reading your file while I waited for you to rejoin us from your sleep. I must say, you _had_ quite the career." 

"You're bluffing," Vaughn snapped, before he could stop himself. "All CIA profiles are protected under the most superior encryption programs available and can only by accessed by computers on our secure network. There is no way you could access that information." 

Sloane chuckled. "You share Sydney's naïveté for how the world works. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by that. No, we have an L.A. asset that has proven to be invaluable to us by providing Mr. Sark and I with whatever information we request." 

He perched on the edge of a passenger seat, looking down at the man that had been essential in disassembling the agency he had once loved more than anything else, save his wife. The man who had, ironically, helped _save_ SD-6 at one time. And the man who would, ultimately, be a key player in founding the new world of Rambaldi's prophecy. 

"Recruited in 1994," he read. "Same year as Sydney, if you were curious. After The Farm, you were, oddly enough, assigned as an analyst even though you had excellent scores in field training. Moving forward, due in part to Sydney, you became the youngest senior officer of the CIA on record, and were reassigned as a field agent. Like I said, you _had _an extremely impressive career." 

"Thank you, I know. And my career is far from over." 

"Ah. We'll see, Mr. Vaughn. We'll see." 

The door slid open again, and since Sloane seemed to be enjoying toying with him, he assumed someone else had come in. Frustrated, he mentally cursed his blindfold. It was a lesser but still well-developed form of torture, he knew, designed to keep a victim disorientated to make him more susceptible to his captor's wishes. From a technique standpoint, it made perfect sense. But that didn't mean he had to _like_ it. 

"We are nearing our destination," Sark informed Sloane, studying Vaughn's prone form with interest. 

"Thank you," Sloane replied. "How is dear Sydney? I'm assuming she has awakened by now." 

Vaughn stiffened. 

"Yes, she has indeed," Sark replied, amused. The little game Sloane was playing with Agent Bristow's current arm decoration was unmistakable. "She refused to give even vague answers to questions I had until I gave her an update on her dear _chérie_. I was quite touched by her devotion." 

Vaughn shifted restlessly on the floor, but remained silent. 

"Ah, Mr. Vaughn did the same. I was quite impressed with that. Most men waking up from a concussion hardly remember their own names, let alone a second-hand foreign language." 

They waited expectantly, but their prisoner simply refused to be baited. Sloane smiled, his genuine respect for the young agent growing. His even younger partner noticed his emotions, but managed to hide a very immature scowl. Why was it that even now, the insipid spy was succeeding in riling him like no one else on earth could? 

Sloane stood, gesturing for Sark to proceed him, and picked up the syringe the guard had left on a nearby seat. 

"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to cut this conversation short," Sloane said, bending and resting the tip of the needle against Vaughn's throat with one hand while holding him in place with the other. "We'll talk again when we reach our final destination." 

Too weak to put up any semblance of a fight, Vaughn was unconscious before Sloane finished fully injecting the needle. 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

Jennycraig: :0 Wow! :blushes: You totally made my day! Thank you! I'm actually brand new to _Alias_ fandom, so I've spent a lot of my time watching DVDs and reading transcripts to catch up with the rest of y'all. I missed the entire first season, and half of the second! lol 

Ilovemypenguin: I toyed with adding more, but everything I tried to write didn't really work. Jack was insistent he was done talking, and well, when Jack _insists_ on something, you obey him. lol 

Arwen: Welcome back! Don't worry, there's plenty more of those. ;) 

Linda: :crosses fingers: Have fun in your Pioneer Days! lol 

Kay10197: Will do! 

Anonymousthinker: LOL, poor Kendall! As he tells Jack, he _has_ to protect everyone in Operations, which means any threat, however slim, has to be taken very seriously. Either that or he's evil. You'll find out soon. ;) 

Em Mindelan: Oh no! What are you doing on the comp? Go to bed right now, young lady! The title sounds familiar… 

Liz9: :whistles: 

Kittyfantastico: I dunno. I'm kinda fond of Vaughn. I'm not sure I wanna give him up. Maybe you could just borrow him? ;) 

Nattie700: :smiles and nods: Man! You're _strict_! 

MJ: I adore all of your reviews, so no worries! 

**2 or 10?**


	8. On Useless Protocol

**_Chapter Eight - On Useless Protocol_**

"Are you aware of how circular your argument is?" Jack snapped. "By implying that Vaughn is a traitor that works directly for Sloane and then implying that Sydney is also a willing partner in that arrangement, you are in essence saying her loyalty always lay with Sloane. If that were true, she never would have _met_ Vaughn in the first place." 

"Yes, but-" 

"But nothing!" he finally exploded. "Now, we can stand here and play 'what if' and accomplish nothing, or we can locate them and have our questions answered." 

Kendall sighed. "I feel for you Jack, I do," he said carefully. "But for now, my search suspension order stands, for reasons I've already detailed. Whatever my personal feelings are, I am responsible for the safety of _every_ agent in this facility. At the _smallest_ chance, I have to assume the worst. Not doing so could mean the deaths of everyone in this branch! Would _you_ want that on your shoulders? I don't. And I'm sure Agent Vaughn and Sydney, if they are innocent, would feel the same." 

Jack said nothing, simply speared Kendall with a patented glare that caused Weiss to shudder. 

"I can't believe this," Weiss said heavily, shaking his head. "I can't _believe_ you expect us to just abandon them! Come _on,_ sir! Mike lost his father to this business. That's partly why he joined! Have you forgotten that?" 

"No," Kendall shot back. "But have _you_ forgotten who killed William Vaughn? Let's say Sydney is innocent in this mess. It's not illogical to believe that Mr. Vaughn wanted vengeance and partnered with Sloane because we gave Irina Derevko an immunity agreement. He could plan on using Sydney as a hostage to exchange for her mother. The resources Sloane has at his disposal would be very useful in such a quest." 

"I'm gonna say it again, sir. There is _no_ way-" 

"I'm going to go brief Devlin," Kendall said shortly, ignoring him. "But before I leave, I want to make something very clear. If any of you go against my orders, if you try to find them on your own, I can assure you I will find out and will have no choice but to assume that you are also associated with Agent Vaughn's apparent treason. Am I clear?" 

None of the enraged agents in question bothered to dignify that with an answer. 

"They will undoubtedly be taken to the same location where Caplan is being held," Jack said brusquely to Dixon once Kendall had left. "We need to find out where that is." 

"Hey, I can-" Weiss offered. 

"We should start with Elsa Caplan," Dixon said, both men ignoring the younger agent. 

"Yes," Jack agreed. "We can propose that she come in for extensive questioning. Possibly even regression therapy." 

"Wait, listen-" Weiss tried again. 

""I'll go myself," Dixon said quietly. 

"Hey!" Weiss finally yelled. 

They turned, surprised. 

"Agent Weiss," Jack said shortly. "I can appreciate that you are concerned about your partner, though I would not suggest shouting again inside this building. We will do our best to keep you informed when we have more information." 

"You're too kind," Weiss said dryly. 

Dixon turned to look at him, his gaze intense. "In return," he said, "we expect you not to tell Kendall that we are going against orders." 

"Oh, I won't," Weiss said shortly. "Because I am too." 

They looked at him harder. "We can't let you do that," Dixon said quietly. "You'd be sacrificing your career." 

"You don't 'let' me do anything," Weiss informed them. "And you guys are sacrificing yours, too." 

Dixon shook his head. "We're two old men, Agent Weiss. You're just getting started." 

"It's out of the question-" Jack started. 

"These people took my best friend and his girlfriend," Weiss snapped. "I am not going to do nothing. You can either throw in with me and have one more ally, or you can refuse and I'll do whatever I can to bring them home anyway. It's up to you." 

Jack studied him for a long time. Weiss held his chin high, meeting Sydney's father's scrutiny without hesitation, wondering all the while how Mike did this on a regular basis without throwing up on Jack's shoes. 

"Then welcome aboard, Agent Weiss," Jack said at last. The faintest hint of a smile spread across his face. 

Dixon clapped him on the back. "Let's go destroy our careers," he said simply, his tone determined. 

**- to be continued -**

Whoever can tell me Kendall's first name first (hehe) will be given a preview of an advance chapter of _Presages_. If you know, please share! 

Review Responses

LilsurferSango: Yes ma'am! 

K4e: Silly! Cliffhangers are suspenseful and stressful and such! Vaughn just fell asleep! Very peaceful chapter ending, if I do say so myself. ;) 

Kittyfantastico: Hmmm. That sounded grudging. As a result, you are hereby allowed to borrow Vaughn on days that end in 'z'. ;) 

Anonymousthinker: They reunite soon! (Via the phone, does that count?) 0:-) 

Jen: Here ya go! 

Andi: Well actually, I was thinking of ending it right here. :whistles: Glad you're having fun! 

Em: Actually I copy-and-paste anyway to avoid spelling errors, so it's all good. And I thought "Streetcar" was a fic! LOL, I think I can safely say that I've never read it. 

Mayleen: Thank you very much! 

UKHoneyB: Will do! 

**2 or 10?**


	9. Various Retrievals

**_Chapter Nine - Various Retrievals_**

He was tired. He was scared. He was hungry. And most of all, he was _furious_. 

Neil Caplan sat awkwardly at a desk in a warehouse. A guard leaned against the door on the far side of the room, gun trained on him. Another sat in front of him, watching him work. He had never seen either of them before and had no idea if his captors were busy killing his family, and thus not there with him, or if someone else was now in charge. 

He closed his eyes, fighting uncharacteristic tears. The last words he had said to his beautiful wife had been out of anger. 

"I can't stand any more promises you don't keep!" 

"I don't know how else to do this!" 

"Maybe you don't. There are other fields." 

"Once the polytechnic goes public with the design, I'll slow down. I mean, I'll stop. I promise." 

"Think about your father. Aaron's growing up, and you're missing it." 

She'd been right, he now realized. She'd been right. And now, he was likely to miss much more of his son's life than he had ever thought. 

He was likely to never see Aaron or Elsa again. 

* * *

A few hours of monotonous calculations later, Neil jumped at the sudden commotion that erupted outside the room he was held in. He didn't dare to look up, but hope began to rise… 

And died quickly when the guard opened the door for the older man. Sloane. Following him were two more guards half-dragging, half-carrying a drugged younger man that was bound tightly. The guard sitting in the chair in front of his desk stood up so they could dump the new prisoner on it and secure him to it firmly with even more white cord. 

"I trust you're well, Mr. Caplan?" Sloane inquired, his tone friendly. He set the magnetometer on the desk. 

"Who is that?" he asked wearily. 

"His name is Michael Vaughn," Sloane replied. "I understand that what I'm asking you to do is very difficult, so I thought I'd provide you with someone that could sympathize with your plight." 

He turned to leave. "Do tell _Agent_ Vaughn when he awakens that Sydney's well-being is directly concurrent with his behavior." 

"Sydney? Wait! What about my family?" 

The door closed behind him. Caplan stared at his notes and then at the sleeping young man slumped in the chair, his thoughts racing. Sloane had said _Agent_. Was this Michael Vaughn NSA? CIA? FBI? Was this new captive someone that had been trying to save him? Did he know about Elsa and Aaron? And who was Sydney? 

_Come on kid_, he thought toward his new cellmate._ Wake up._ _We have a lot to discuss._

* * *

She was waiting for him, eyes clearly demanding answers. But for a moment, that faded away. _She's beautiful_, he thought. _Just like Sydney. Like our daughter._

He took a deep breath, his eyes heavy with worry. "What have you heard?" 

"Only that Sydney was captured," Irina said quietly. "Give me details, Jack. Please." 

Jack sighed. "Sydney and Vaughn went to Switzerland to follow Sloane's trail. After rescuing a family held by him, they tracked Sloane to a bank in Zurich. After a standoff inside the building, Sloane forced them to surrender and come with him. We lost them on a highway outside the city." 

She nodded shortly. "What's being done?" 

"Nothing," he said quietly, in frustration.  


"What?" 

"Apparently, Vaughn has spent the past few months in meetings all over the world with former KGB operatives and assassins. Kendall and counter-intelligence are convinced that he worked for Sloane and that Sydney was either helping him, or a pawn in his plans."  


"That's preposterous," she dismissed. "William Vaughn's son could never be anything but loyal to America." 

"I agree," he said quietly. He leaned closer to the glass. "Agent Weiss switched things around so that he could watch the cameras at this time. We can talk freely." He paused. "We're going to get them back." 

She raised her chin, looking him in the eyes. "If Vaughn was meeting KGB people, they probably had ties to me. We could claim I was trying to confirm that information, but I can't do that from here. I want to help, Jack. Let me help." 

"Kendall would never agree to-" 

"Make him," Irina said simply. "Get me out of this cell, Jack, and I will do everything I can to help us retrieve them." 

* * *

She had been beautiful before, when she was angry. But while asleep, her beauty and her innocence, were unrivaled. It simply took his breath away how perfect this woman was. 

Sark slouched in a chair to the left of Sydney, in a hidden room on the basement level of the Sloane's Tuscany villa. She lay on a rollaway, hands bound above her head to the bed frame, ankles secured to the iron posts supporting it. 

Sydney stirred slightly, appearing like a little girl awakening from a nap, as she stretched as much as her restraints allowed. He waited patiently, not wishing to rush her. He needed her head clear. 

And just seconds later, she turned towards him, eyes hard. "Where's…" 

"And good day to you, Ms. Bristow," he replied. "To answer your query, Mr. Vaughn was taken to the same location where Mr. Caplan is temporarily residing. He and Mr. Sloane are relatively close by." 

She glared. "Where am I?" 

"Spain," he answered. "I regret that I cannot give you any additional details, at least for now. I _have_ been asked by my partner to remind you that Mr. Vaughn's comfort level rests in your hands." 

She closed her eyes briefly, but said nothing. 

"We have an assignment for you," Sark told her. "And if you are successful, I am authorized to say that we will consider allowing your _boyfriend_ to leave our custody and return to Los Angeles. Alive and unharmed, present condition not withstanding. Though if you refuse or fail, well…" 

"What kind of assignment?" she asked warily. 

He leaned forward in the chair. 

"Your mother, Sydney, was once my employer. I'd like for that to happen again. Your assignment is to retrieve Irina Derevko from FBI custody and both return her to us _and_ her former glory." 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

Amyrlin: I love your review! ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: :sigh: I was hopin' my readers could perform another miracle and find that out, like y'all figured out M. Vartan's middle name for _Surmising Alliances_. My faith is shattered! ;'( lol 

Kay10197: LOL, I'd drop dead from shame. Like I did before these chapters were beta'd, ay Linda? ;) 

Jennycraig10: Here ya go! 

Charmedgal005: LOL, these chapters are like 3 times as long as my normal chapters are. (This chapter is like 5 times as long!) And, :gushes: thanks for your kind words! 

Andi Horton: Bob, ay? There's an idea! lol 

Britt4: LOL! Breathe! ;) 

Maggie: Poor, poor Sarkie. 

Wannabannana: Happy to oblige! Hee. 

K4e: Devlin's first name is Ben. :P 

London: Thanks very much! 

Anonymousthinker: I think Engelbert has a nice ring to it! That and Eugene. Hmmmm… 

Michele: See, I coulda sworn Jack said it during an argument, but maybe I just can't hear. It's very possible. lol 

Kittyfantastico: Psssh. It's very fair! And thank you! 

UKHoneyB: LOL, poor Weiss. And poor Jack, not even he can scare Weiss from helping Vaughn when he needs it! 

Nattie700: Awww, thanks for tryin'! A KILT? :shields eyes: 

Linda: Well, sometimes Jack lets Kendall win, but only if it benefits Daddy Bristow. ;) 

gum-addict: LOL, easy, chica. Breathe! As for the pic… I'm a paying member of FF.net, so the profile pic is one of the perks. :) 

Liz: Only six? hehe 

**2 or 10? **


	10. Cellmates

**_Chapter Ten - Cellmates_**

His luck was actually improving, Vaughn realized. His concussion was now fully gone and the horrid blindfold had even been removed. Granted, he was now tied to what felt like a very uncomfortable chair, but still. He could see! 

With that in mind, he forced his eyes open, blinking back automatic tears as his eyes were exposed to a ridiculously bright room. _Where am I?_

"Finally! It's about time you woke up." 

Irritated, he blinked rapidly. _Who is that?_ It wasn't Sark or Sloane, and he doubted a random guard would strike up a conversation with a CIA operative. His vision finally cleared and he froze, astonished. Sitting at a desk in front of him, also restrained, sat a haggard man a few years younger than Jack Bristow; a man he recognized immediately from mission briefings. 

"I'd offer you a hand to shake, but we both seem to be at a disadvantage," the man said. "Neil Caplan. You're Michael Vaughn. And I'm very sorry to be so abrupt, but I have a lot of questions for you." 

He shifted as much as he could on the hard chair, acutely aware of the armed guard standing a few feet behind them. "Shoot." 

"My family?" The man looked as though as he was fighting tears. 

Silently, Vaughn cursed himself. If he'd been Caplan, he would've _thrown_ stuff at him until he woke up, and then would've wanted nothing more than the first thing he said to be about his wife and son. 

"Your family's fine," he replied. Caplan sagged in his chair, body shaking in relief. "Syd… _my_ _partner_ and I found them in Switzerland. They're back in L.A. by now and are probably under 24-hour surveillance. They're safe." 

"Thank you," Caplan choked. He raised a hand to wipe his eyes and Vaughn couldn't help but envy him that freedom. They fell silent for a moment while Caplan recovered, and Vaughn pictured and forcibly dismissed all the terrible situations Sydney was possibly experiencing. _You're going to make yourself crazy if you keep that up_, he told himself. Strange. His inner voice sounded like Weiss. 

"You said 'Syd'," Caplan said suddenly into the silence. "Do you mean Sydney?" 

Vaughn stiffened. "Yes," he replied, straightening in his chair. "Is she here?" He scanned the room as best he could. The guard by the door glared at them, but made no move to end their conversation. 

"No. I mean, I don't think so," Caplan replied, his voice compassionate. _He worries about her like I worried about Elsa and Aaron._ "Sloane told me about her. He, uh, said… you know. Standard threat." 

Vaughn nodded wordlessly, his eyes hardening. 

Another long silence. Feeling the guard's pointed glare, Caplan reluctantly returned to work, though news of his family's safety had significantly lessened his cooperation level. Vaughn watched him for a time, wondering what on earth he was doing. And for that matter… "Where are we?" he blurted. 

"Switzerland," Caplan replied, still writing. "At least that's what I've been told." 

Vaughn frowned. The last hazy effects from the concussion and the drugs had left his mind and he was finally able to think clearly. The guard on the jet had spoken German, he distinctly remembered that, and German _was_ one of the prominent languages of Switzerland. But he'd been captured _in _that country. If they were _still_ there, a flight wouldn't have been necessary. Sloane and Sark could have simply used the truck. _They're trying to throw us off. We could even be back in the States right now._

"What are you, kid?" 

Deliberately, Vaughn shook himself from his thoughts. Wherever he was, an escape attempt was out of the question until he knew Sydney was free. And safe. "What do you mean?" 

"NSA?" 

"Huh?" _National Security Agency? Not exactly the first organization that would come to _my_ mind, but I guess I'm biased._ "Uh, no. CIA. Senior Operations Officer Vaughn, at your service. Call me Michael." He inclined his head in a gallant bow, amused in spite of himself. 

Caplan hid a grin, his previously low spirits genuinely raised by his fellow captive's undeniable youth. "Not that I don't believe you, Michael, but you're quite young for the senior level." 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow, instincts tingling. _Odd thing for a _civilian _to say._ "Seems to be the general consensus," he replied, flashing a smile. 

The guard cleared his throat sharply, readjusting his grip on the automatic rifle he held. Mr. Sloane had instructed him to allow the two prisoners to converse without restriction when he had brought the agent here, but the guard still found permitting such freedom tiresome. Caplan scowled, but once again began scanning the papers, carefully taking notes and calculating measurements. 

"What are you doing?" Vaughn asked curiously. He tried to lean forward for a better look but was unable to do so. 

"Something straight out of a science fiction movie," Caplan muttered. "This guy, Rambaldi, he was supposedly some kind of prophet." 

_Rambaldi._ Vaughn stiffened, eyes widening. 

"They want to me to put this thing together that he designed," an oblivious Caplan continued to explain, holding up a page of notes. "I don't know what it is, but it requires very specific calculations." 

"A weapon, right?" Vaughn's tone was so intent that even the guard straightened at the sound. 

"I don't know," Caplan stammered, bewildered by Michael's sudden mood change. "This guy Rambaldi… he's _for real_?" 

Vaughn merely stared at him. 

** - to be continued -**

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: The fantabulous Alias-Media.com has both a preview clip from E! News and screenshots. Go drool your heart out! lol 

Kay10197: But of course! lol 

Jennycraig10: Awww… :gushes: No FP.net stories, although I do have a few other _Alias_ fanfics posted here on FF. Just go peek in my profile! 

Kayla: LOL! Great review! Ya made me laugh. 

Wannabannana: Hmmm? Wha? Did you ask a question? :whistles: 

Arwen Vaughn: Thank you! But be nice to your computer! The stupid losers that write worms for fun are making it work overtime! lol 

Britt: Poor Syd! ;) 

Kittyfantastico: I agree. Here they had this great actor doing a guest stint, but they didn't bother utilizing all his talents. Any no-name newbie coulda played that role, instead of an established one like Slater. Woulda saved money, too. lol 

Nattie700: LMAO! You're meaner than Sloane and Sark _combined_ right now! The kilt must be stealing all your oxygen or something. 

UKHoneyB: Thank you! And a cliffhanger? What's that? ;) 

K4e: 'Long nice little chapter'? Long and little combined? :smiles and nods: ;) lol 

Maxwell: Oh no! Get up! Arthritis in knees is bad! Leavin', ay? Well no worries on updates, the reviewers seem to like daily updates and as long as y'all do, I'll gladly post new chapters! I also have a Yahoo group that helps you access the FF chapters before the site itself shows them… link's in my profile. 

Chinkybrowneyes: I'm a hopeless J/I shipper, mainly because of the awesome talents that are Victor and Lena. 

**2 or 10? **


	11. Spiders in the Cellar

**_

Chapter Eleven - Spiders in the Cellar 

_**

"Absolutely not! Did you hear a _word_ I said earlier?" 

"I would think, Director Kendall, that you would be interested in proving the innocence of an apparently condemned agent of this facility, especially if it saved not only him, but the best agent the CIA has to offer." 

"Jack, yes I would, but-" 

"Irina Derevko had her chance to betray us before. She didn't." 

"Yes, but-" 

"There is a saying, Director Kendall: 'When a man says the word 'but', he's stopped listening. Just let me explain." 

Kendall fell silent, all but tapping his foot in impatience. 

"I have already begun to spec this out," Jack said shortly. "We'd start in Russia, where Vaughn's investigations began. Irina would wear an undetectable bug that would allow me to hear everything she said as she met with the same operatives Agent Vaughn did. Agent Dixon and Agent Weiss would provide backup. She will not escape." 

Kendall sighed. "Jack…" 

"If you can come up with a reasonable explanation for vetoing this, fine," Jack said curtly. "But do not dismiss this on protocol." 

Kendall leveled him with a measuring stare. _I know exactly what you're plotting, Jack. But this would hold up to any face value scrutiny and I want them back, too._

"Fine," the Director said at last, his tone grudging and his body radiating reluctance. But the animosity Jack had felt towards Kendall was abruptly gone when he nodded to him. 

Kendall had not been the only person sizing a man up. 

* * *

"Hello," Will said slowly. Outside his doorway stood three men in black suits. _There's something you don't see everyday._

"Can we come in?" Jack asked impatiently. 

"What? Oh, yeah. Of course." Still flustered, Will stepped aside. 

"This is Agent Eric Weiss. I believe you've met Agent Dixon." 

He frowned, wracking his brain. "Ah. The Halloween party?" 

"Correct," Dixon replied, flashing a smile designed to relax the man. 

"Hey," Weiss said shortly. 

"Hi," Will replied. "Hey, have you guys heard from Syd? She's been gone for two days and she told me she'd be 

back yesterday. I tried contacting Vaughn, but I guess he's out in the field with her?" 

The three men looked at each other. 

"Sit down, Mr. Tippin," Jack sighed. "We've got bad news." 

* * *

"Welcome home, Arvin!" Smiling broadly, Emily rushed forward to hug him. 

Sloane chuckled, heartened by her cheer. "Thank you, sweetheart. What'd you do today?" 

"Oh, nothing," she sighed. "Tended to the garden and straightened up a little. How was your trip?" 

"Uneventful," he shrugged. "What's for dinner?" 

"I was in the mood for Italian," she said lightly. "Brasciole." 

"Sounds delicious," he answered. 

"Of course it is," she teased. "But it could use the perfect wine to go with it." 

He nodded and kissed her, inwardly pleased she'd been the one to make the suggestion, though he knew it was only because she would never willingly go into the basement. Spiders. "Then I'll go downstairs and find one, of course. But it might take a while." 

She kissed him on the nose. "As long as it's the _perfect_ wine, take as long as you like," she returned. 

* * *

He strolled swiftly down the wine cellar, placing a bottle by the stairs to grab when he returned. With a quick glance behind him, he pulled a painting away from the wall and pressed the code into the keypad hidden behind it. A door opened and he stepped through without hesitation, waiting until it closed behind him before opening another door with a different code. 

The first room was not soundproofed. The second was. His precaution was rewarded immediately after the second door opened. 

"_Are you insane?_" Sydney yelled angrily at Sark. The two of them looked up in surprise as Sloane entered. 

"Ah, Sydney. Welcome back to the land of the living," he greeted. She ignored him, clearly stunned. 

"_You want me to break into the joint task force office and kidnap my _mother_?_" 

"Your skills are proven, Sydney," Sloane said, his voice soothing. "If anyone could do this, it would be you." 

"We would provide you with whatever resources you needed to succeed," Sark continued. He rose from the chair, tucked his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and joined Sloane in looking down at her. 

Sydney shook her head, eyes wide as she studied them both. "No! _No!_ I would easily be recognized! Hello? I _work_ in that office!" 

"So you're refusing, then?" Sark's tone was placid. 

"Let's not be so hasty, Mr. Sark," Sloane reprimanded. "I'm certain Sydney just needs a little reminder of what's at stake." 

He pulled out a cell phone and dialed. 

* * *

All three men; Caplan, Vaughn and the guard, jumped at the jarring sound of a cell phone. Vaughn turned as much as his restraints permitted, straining to watch the guard as he answered. 

It goes without saying that when a man holding a gun received a phone call, it was never a good moment for a prisoner. 

**

- to be continued -

**

Review Responses 

Ilovemypenguin: LOL, well thank ya! 

K4e: Stay tuned. ;) 

Andi Horton: The Vaughn/Caplan moment really wrote itself. As I was brainstorming, I was surprised to realize that those two actually had a lot in common. 

Kittyfantastico: :smiles and nods: ;) I think my suggestion is perfectly fair! 

MJ: Ah, there you are! Sloane's threat served two purposes: he obviously needed _someone_ to tell Vaughn that, and it also reminded Caplan just how ruthless he was. Clever for an evil old guy. 

Kira: Wow! Thank you! 

Nattie700: LOL, I must say that review is Exhibit A for my decision that the kilt doesn't rob you of sanity. For it to do that, you'd have to have some. ;) :whistles: 

UKHoneyB: It's not that it isn't well thought of, I think, Vaughn being the CIA snob that he is just automatically assumes that his agency comes first for everything. ;) 

MvsGirl: LOL! Thanks! ;) 

Anonymousthinker: Ah, sleep. I vaguely remember what that is. I myself haven't tried this "sleep concept" for about 6 years. I'll do that when I'm dead. ;) 

Chinkybrowneyes: It's almost like normal male bonding - without the beer! ;) 

Leo's l'il sista: Hello again! :) Unfortunately I still struggle with reading post-Telling fics. :( Everytime I see that I get mad at Jj's apparent disrepect for his fans, whom he enjoys playing games with. No, I'm not bitter. ;) 

****

2 or 10? 


	12. Refreshments

**_Chapter Twelve - Refreshments_**

"Who are you calling?" Sydney demanded. 

Sloane ignored her. 

"_Hola, Ricardo_," he said cheerfully. "_Ponga por favor el _Agente Vaughn_ en el teléfono_." ("Hello, Ricardo. Please put _Agent Vaughn_ on the phone.") 

If anything, Sydney's eyes opened wider, this time with horror. 

"Here," Sloane said simply, stepping closer and holding the phone against her ear. 

* * *

Both Vaughn and Caplan tensed when the guard stepped forward. 

"What?" Vaughn asked, his tone deliberately calm. "What is it?" 

The guard responded by pressing his phone to Vaughn's ear, tightening his grip on his gun with his other hand in unspoken warning as he did so. 

_Well. Here goes nothing._ For a horrible moment, he wondered if they'd brought his mother into this. _If they scare my_ maman_, any revenge Sydney could possibly think of wouldn't come close to _my_ ideas._

"Hello? _Bonjour?_" 

* * *

The relief that swelled through Sydney was utterly ridiculous for its quantity. "Vaughn!" 

"Syd?" The connection crackled for a moment. "Where are you?" 

Sloane shook his head at her. "In a room with the _worst_ company imaginable," Sydney replied carefully. _Why don't they want Vaughn to know we're in Spain? What's the point? _She paused. 

"Are you okay?" she asked nervously, knowing she was giving Sloane and Sark even more ammunition against them both, but genuinely not caring. "How's the head?" 

"I'm fine, Syd. So is Caplan," he replied briefly, his tone guarded. _Someone's pointing a gun at him_, Sydney realized, and then felt like an idiot for doing so. _Of course someone is, Sydney!_

"Vaughn-" 

"That'll be all," Sloane cut her off, moving the phone away. Sydney lay back against the pillows, still relieved to have heard Vaughn's voice, even as Sloane continued to make clear who had control at the moment. 

"_¿Cómo son las cosas?_" Sloane inquired. "_¿Nuestras huéspedes se están comportando?_" ("How are things? Are our guests behaving themselves?") 

"_Ich mag sie nicht sprechend,_" Ricardo answered shortly. ("I don't like them talking.") 

The guard was speaking German, not his native Spanish. Young Michael Vaughn had a growing reputation for a brilliance in strategy and deductive reasoning that rivaled Jack Bristow himself, and Sloane planned to throw him off using every available opportunity. Ordering the guard to continue speaking the same language Vaughn had been allowed to hear on the jet would accomplish that with the barest minimum of effort. 

"_Sé. Pero déjelos, Caplan guarda mientras el trabajar_," he replied. "_Aprenderemos probablemente más esa manera que si intentamos interrogar al Agente Vaughn._" ("I know. But let them, as long as Caplan keeps working. We will probably learn more that way than if we tried to interrogate Agent Vaughn.") 

"_Ja, sir_," Ricardo replied obediently. 

"_Adiós._" 

"_Auf Wiedersehen,_" the guard replied. 

He hung up, noting as he did so that the glare Sydney was currently directing toward him was every inch as terrifying as her father's. Or her mother's. 

"I trust we don't need to vocalize what Mr. Vaughn's situation will be, should you choose to decline our assignment?" Sark asked politely. 

In response, she switched her glare's target from Sloane to him. 

"Excellent," Sloane said, as Sark met her glare evenly. The former head of SD-6 wore a gentle, proud smile on his face. "I am eager to see your inevitable success." 

**_-- _**

"_What?_" 

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," Weiss informed Will shortly. The younger CIA Agent paced restlessly around while the other three men sat facing each other in Sydney's living room. 

"You're going to go rescue them, right?" 

"Yes," Jack replied shortly, not going into details. 

"Well, uh, thanks for telling me, but why did you? I'm thinkin' you normally would just say they're on a longer mission than usual and leave it at that." 

Dixon raised an eyebrow. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised, the kid _was_ an analyst _and_ a former reporter, but still. Will was clearly much smarter than people gave him credit for. 

"Normally, we would, yes," Jack said quietly. "But we need your talents for something." 

"What?" 

* * *

"The CIA is here," Allison told Sark quietly. "They're recruiting Tippin for their rescue effort." 

"That's excellent news," Sark replied approvingly. "That means your source is still good." 

"I know," she said, though she glowed at his praise. 

"I'm assuming this is still a rogue operation? I highly doubt they would normally hold such a sensitive meeting outside their facility." 

"I'll confirm with Tippin tonight, but it looks to be." 

"Excellent. Agent Vaughn only has himself to blame, really." 

"Yes," she replied. "I'm going to go play Francie now." 

"Have fun, love," he replied. The connection died. 

* * *

"We need all the information you can gather on Vladimir Pograski," Jack said to Will as he jotted down notes. 

"Okay," Will said, the corner of his tongue sticking out absently as he wrote. "Who is he?" 

Jack ignored him. _He'll find out soon enough_. "We also need to know his current location, the people he's met with in the past six months, and if anything was exchanged at those meetings." 

"Gotcha." 

"Hey, everyone." 

They turned. Sydney's final civilian friend, Francie, stood in the doorway of the room, eyeing them all curiously. "What's up, guys?" 

"Hey, Fran," Will said, his tone too bright. Dixon nudged him. _Calm down, kid._

"Good afternoon," Jack said to her smoothly. "You've met Marcus, I think. This is Eric Weiss." 

"Hey," Weiss said, stepping forward to shake her hand. "I'm a friend of Syd's and Mike's from the bank." 

Will watched, fascinated at the ease with which all three men lied. 

"Explains the suit," Francie teased. "Do you hate it as much as Sydney?" 

"I don't think anyone that works there likes it," Weiss returned honestly. "Unless, you know, they're insane." 

She laughed. "Well, I won't interrupt. Can I get you guys something to drink?" 

** - to be continued -**   
Please forgive any language errors!   
That was Jinnie's attempt at three!   
(Count 'em: French, Spanish _and_ German)

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: That site is truly a God-send. 

Kay10197: LOL, I'm working on Chapter 32 right now. ;) 

Wannabannana: Don't worry, there's more where that came from! 

K4e: Me? Tease? Never! 

Kittyfantastico: Is too fair! 

Reverie: Why hello! Nice to see ya again! LOL. _Presages_ is also on SD-1. ;) 

Nattie70: (I swear to God a zero is missing!) Hmmm… are you leaving a review or writing a blog? ;) LOL. I played clarinet (and bass) all through middle and high school! 

MJ::buries head in shame: Yeah, two betas _and_ yours truly missed that. Oops! But wait! Not my fault you can't read my mind! ;) Hmm. Cliffé? I'm gonna go with French. It has an accent. ;) lol 

Linda: Good actress you're not. ;) I guess I love ya anyway. ;) 

**And now a plug**… are you a Vartan Ho? Are you a member of the chat list thing? You _are_? Well then, head to photos and check out my exclusive gallery of HQ Michael and others pics. New pic added every other day! ;) 

**2 or 10?**


	13. In Dreams

**_Chapter Thirteen - In Dreams_**

"So," Will said to Weiss after Francie arrived and left with drinks, and Jack and Dixon had disappeared somewhere to plot. "Who are you to Syd and Vaughn, exactly?" 

Weiss downed the water in one gulp. "Michael is my partner. And a very good friend. Because Sydney is kinda his partner too, I work with both of them." 

Will nodded, digesting that information. "Can I ask you an honest question?" 

"Does that mean you'll want an honest answer?" Weiss quipped. "Sure, go for it." 

"Do you think we'll see them again?" 

Weiss gave Will his full attention. 

"And don't give me the company line, either. I know from _personal experience_ just how ruthless those two are, and I was a nobody to them! Syd and Vaughn have done so much to destroy both of them… Do you really think they'd just let you guys take them back?" 

Weiss smiled. It was not a friendly smile, but rather the mentality that took over when the CIA sent him on off-the-books missions. 

"These guys dared to lay a hand on my best friend. Trust me, I won't leave them around to disagree."****

Will straightened. "They hurt Sydney. You can have the first shot, but I want the second." 

* * *

Silence in the warehouse. 

Caplan worked tirelessly, determined to end his enforced servitude to these people as soon as possible. Michael, meanwhile, sagged in the chair he was bound to, fast asleep. Every so often the agent would murmur Sydney's name as he dreamed, something the older man found soothing. 

He was finished. Caplan looked down wearily, knowing there would be no allowances for mistakes. Still telling himself he had no idea what he had just built, he signaled the guard. 

* * *

"Mr. Sloane, Ricardo is reporting that Caplan is finished." 

Arvin Sloane nodded distractedly from where he stood next to Sydney in the hidden room, watching as she slept. 

"I would appreciate it, Mr. Sark, if you would run the tests yourself." 

"Vaughn…" Sydney murmured sleepily, a gentle smile crossing her lips. 

"I'll get right on it," Sark said shortly, suddenly aware of how small the room was. 

* * *

"What does Diane have to say about all this?" 

Dixon sighed. "I lied to her, Jack. I know she loves me, but she doesn't trust me." 

Jack nodded. "But she's letting you go after Sydney. That's a good sign." 

Dixon said nothing. 

-- 

"Good evening, gentlemen," Sark greeted. "I understand congratulations are in order, Mr. Caplan?" 

"It's done," Neil said wearily, holding up his notes. "The calculations have been verified. All you have to do is follow them to put this thing together." 

"Excellent," Sark murmured, taking them and scanning the papers carefully. "Very well done, Mr. Caplan." 

"It's my understanding, Sark," Vaughn spoke up, knowing Caplan was too frightened to do so, "that you have a promise to keep with Mr. Caplan here." 

"Indeed," Sark replied absently, too awed by the notes in front of him to do what he usually would and mock his hated captive's naïveté. 

"So I can go home?" Neil tried to hide his hope. He was a far cry from inexperienced, but… 

"I have to go test this," Sark muttered, clearly not even having heard the question. 

"Wait!" 

But he was gone. Blinking away tears, Caplan looked at his younger companion, who was clearly years older than him in this respect. 

"They lied. They're never going to release me, no matter what I do." 

His eyes gentle, Michael nodded slowly. 

* * *

"How'd you get Kendall to agree to this?" 

Jack held open the cell door, waiting for her to walk through it. 

"We might have an ally," he replied simply, not giving away anything else. _Cameras._ Irina nodded in understanding. _Kendall._ Jack nodded back. 

Verbal communication between them was handy, yes, but hardly required. 

* * *

"The Rambaldi device is complete. I ran the test. I think you'll be pleased with the results." 

Wordlessly, Sark held out photos. 

"When we agreed to combine our resources, sir, you promised you'd show me incredible things. But a suitcase neutron bomb designed in the sixteenth century -- is that even a theoretical possibility?" 

Sloane smiled. "It worked, didn't it?" 

"Yes," Sark agreed, still awed. "Quite gruesomely, but effectively. I must admit, I almost used our two guests and their guard as the test subjects. Caplan's function is fulfilled after all, and Vaughn and Ricardo are destined for execution anyway." 

Sloane looked at him sharply. "Mr. Vaughn is still useful to us, and a man with Mr. Caplan's abilities should not be lightly discounted either. I'm relieved you found another way to test the weapon." 

Sark nodded. "Am I to believe, then, that Mr. Caplan's stay with us is not over?" 

"Why would you think otherwise?" Sloane's puzzlement was genuine. 

"No reason," Sark answered quickly. "Would you like me to go brief Ms. Bristow?" 

"Not quite yet," Sloane sighed. "The plans for infiltrating the building where Irina is held are shaky at best." 

Sark bristled. "Sir, I can assure you that I scoped out her mission using all of my abilities." 

"While I have no doubt of that, Mr. Sark, there were still some holes," he replied. "It's no fault of yours, but your unfamiliarity with the exact layout of the facility is a handicap we can't afford. Perhaps…" He then raised his head. His eyes widened. "Of course!" 

"Mr. Sloane?" 

He turned and gave his younger partner a look of triumph. "I _told_ you Mr. Vaughn would be much more than a useful bargaining chip, Mr. Sark." 

**- to be continued -**

I am so sorry, but I have major work and school deadlines. :( I'll respond to the reviews for the last chapter in the next one, okay? 

But pssst… it's still **2 or 10**! ;)****


	14. Silk Ludicrousms

**_Chapter Fourteen - Silk Ludicrousms_**

She was furious. Frighteningly so. 

Trapped in a completely soundproofed room, restrained firmly, and completely cut off from the rest of the world would break most people, she knew. 

It merely made Sydney Bristow _angry_. 

Very, very, _very_ angry. 

For the thousandth time she tugged wildly at her bindings, eyes flying everywhere around the nondescript room in an effort to find something, _anything_, that would help her. 

But she found nothing. And even if she could somehow struggle free from the straps, the room she was in could only be opened from the outside.****

Exasperated, she stopped fighting for a moment, having used up all her energy in her rage. _Will would say I'm having temper tantrums_, she thought dryly. 

She closed her eyes, trying to find the methodical state of mind Vaughn sank into so effortlessly whenever he found himself in any sort of trouble. The way he could simply detach himself from whatever the situation was and just _analyze_ it… it was an ability she had always envied, and she came from a family highly trained in controlling emotion. 

_Vaughn._

She swallowed hard. How was he? What was he thinking? What was he doing? Was he in pain, eating, sleeping, escaping, _dying_? She simply didn't know. 

She renewed her efforts to break free then. For him. 

* * *

They must've drugged him again. 

Vaughn looked around, somewhat bewildered by his change in surroundings but automatically absorbing as much information as he could. He sat at the head of a long glass table, wrists secured with long chains to the armrests of his metal chair and ankles manacled to the posts of the table. He'd been cleaned up and was once again wearing the blue silk shirt he'd worn over his t-shirt that fateful day. 

Neil Caplan was nowhere to be found, though the same guard watched him from the doorway of the room. 

Vaughn was just beginning to wonder if the guard would answer any of his questions when the door opened and Sloane and Sark strolled in. 

"_Bonne journée, Monsieur Vaughn_," Sloane said cheerfully. ("Good day, Mr. Vaughn.") 

"_Depuis vous ledit jour, il doit égaliser. _Bonsoir_ à vous_," he replied dryly. ("Since you said day, it must be evening. _Good evening_ to you.") 

Sloane chuckled, pulling up a chair at the table. 

"Where's Sydney?" Vaughn demanded. 

"Ah, young love. Sydney is catching up on some much-needed rest. The natural way, I assure you." 

Sark scowled into the glass. Noticing, Vaughn barely managed to hide his smirk. 

"Great. Mind if I ask what the hell is going on?" 

"Such inelegance," Sloane sighed. "I'm going to be direct, Agent Vaughn. We need your help. The help of an _agent_, not a _hostage_, which is why we decided to clean you up a little." 

Vaughn stared at him, trying to determine if Sloane was being sarcastic or serious. 

"We have an assignment for Sydney," Sark cut in impatiently. Sloane seemed to enjoy his mind games, but he preferred more direct methods. "We have ordered her to break into the joint task force facility and retrieve her mother. We need you to help us plan that out. She has already agreed to this task, for your sake." 

He should be livid, Vaughn realized, at being used in such a way. But their assignment for Syd was so ludicrous…. 

Before he could stop himself, he busted out laughing. 

Sloane waited patiently for Agent Vaughn to recover while Sark tapped his fingers on the glass and tried to resist the temptation to draw his gun and just shoot him. 

"You're serious," the spy said incredulously when he'd stopped laughing. 

"_Dead_ serious," Sark said irritably. 

"You want Syd to break _into_ an office that would hold open doors for her, and kidnap a woman that would probably be delighted to leave the cell on her own?" Vaughn's tone was a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Sark bristled, anger sparking at the man's insolence. 

"Have you forgotten your current state of affairs, Mr. Vaughn?" he snapped. 

"Yes," Sloane said simply. "Can we count on your help with such a request?" 

Vaughn folded his hands on the table, inwardly relishing the ability to move around that much, and leaned back in his chair, the chains rattling lightly as he did so. "I'm not sure what you'd want from me," he said honestly. "Syd knows the building just as well as I do." 

"Sydney is relatively new to the CIA," Sloane replied. "And Agent Vaughn, you are of high enough rank to know that CIA buildings are not exactly standard. Where there is an obvious door, there are ten hidden." 

Vaughn smiled faintly, but said nothing. 

"Furthermore," Sloane continued, his tone piercing, "we cannot allow Sydney to be seen, because obviously, that would ruin her use to us." 

"To _you_," Vaughn corrected shortly. "Do stop talking like this has _anything_ to do with me." 

"Oh, but it does," Sark reminded, his tone just short of gleeful. In response, Vaughn raised his head in a burning glare that reminded Sloane immediately of his old friend. _Taken him under your wing, Jack?_

"So," he finished. "We need your help to get her _in_ and get them _out,_ undetected. Must we be unpleasant, or will you agree based on this mere request?" 

* * *

"Absolutely not!" 

"Jack, listen-" 

"Mr. Tippin, I appreciate all your help. _We_ appreciate all your help. But you are _not_ an agent! For me to agree to let you come with us when we find out where they are risks all of our lives, including Sydney's!" 

That gave Will pause. 

"Jack, let me," Irina said softly. 

They stood in Vaughn's apartment, having decided that the sight of Sydney's dead mother would be slightly difficult to explain to Francie. 

"I know you want to help your friends," she said to him, while he marveled at her resemblance to her daughter. _Or is that the other way around?_ "And Mr. Tippin, you _are_. By gathering information for us, you are playing an essential role." 

"Look," Will sighed. "I get that when compared to all of you, I'm like a kid playing in a sandbox that's too big. But I was a reporter, remember? I don't run scared. I'm not asking to go and be point guy, but I want to help." 

"Fine," Weiss said. 

Dixon, Irina and Jack whirled. 

"I'm glad _you_ understand," Will said, relieved. 

"Wait just a minute!" Jack said sharply. 

"I didn't say you could come with us," Weiss replied evenly. "But there is a way you could help that doesn't involve books." 

Will waited. Weiss reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a picture. 

"This is Elsa Caplan," he said quietly. "Her husband, Neil, was kidnapped a month or so ago by Sark. She and her son Aaron were also taken as hostages, but Sydney and Mike saved them before being captured themselves." 

"Okay," Will said slowly. 

"They're here in L.A.," Weiss said quietly. "And understandably, freaked out by everything government. Wherever Neil is being held, so are Mike and Sydney. I think you'd be perfect to talk to her and get whatever information you can. You're not a suit guy; she'd be more relaxed with you. What do you say?" 

Will didn't hesitate. 

"What's her phone number? I'll call her now and set up a meeting time." 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: No, no! The Evil Guys did! Not the angelic author! See my plug two chapters back for exclusive HQ MV pics. ;) 

Anonymousthinker: Ahem, I daresay I go first. :P I have two internet classes that actually take up more time than my normal courses. Yuck. :( Good luck to you! And this one had even more VaughnFrench, just for you. ;) 

UKHoneyB: LOL! You know, that's twice now people have accused me of the dreaded cliffhanger, but I honestly didn't think it was one! Note to self: whenever Vaughn sleeps, readers say it's a cliffhanger. ;) And geez, I know! Jack, Dixon and Weiss are always such sticklers for the rules and following protocol! :snickers: 

Kay10197: hehe, your short 'n sweet reviews are so cute. And whew! I was so worried about the languages! I was convinced that I had horribly butchered them, lol. Thanks for tellin' me I wasn't too off! (Either that, or thanks for lying! LOL) 

Nattie700: LOL! I'm sensing some pent-up rage… ;) No, no, s'okay! I enjoy your blogs aka reviews! ;) What happened at the comp?? I was in marching band in HS, too. I fell at state and tore my rotator cuff. (But we took third, so that's all that matters! lol) 

Kittyfantastico: :0 SEPTEMBER? Shaddup and stop yer braggin'. :P Is too fair! 

Reverie: I confess, Sark's little "you mean we're _not_ letting him go?" moment was inspired by the part where he says that he trusts Caplan's word in the real ep. He's cruel and evil yes, but he has his moments of innocence. I so adore that character's complexity. (As long as S/S is merely a not-realized fantasy by a tiny minority of fans). ;) 

Andi Horton: Woohoo! Welcome back! I'm always worried that I screwed up or something when past reviewers vanish. lol. And if it helps, you can do Author Alerts with my account name, since I'm an enhanced member. ;) 

Winking Tiger: Yay, new reviewer! Thanks for dropping a word. :) 

Jennycraig10: Thanks. :D And don't worry, it ain't over 'til it says Epilogue. ;) 

Raina: Why yes, they will. ;) 

Arwen Vaughn: Whoa! Sounds like you've got a _terrible_ cold! Here, have a tissue. ;) 

LuvinVartan4Eva: :gushes: I really like your review! lol 

**2 or 10?**


	15. Following a Hunch

**_Chapter Fifteen - Following a Hunch_**

"There is a flaw in your plans," Vaughn informed them. He schooled his face into an unreadable mask, preparing to gamble perhaps the unthinkable, and knowing he would kill not only himself but the woman he loved if he lost. 

"That's why we're requesting your assistance," Sloane answered, his tone patient. "Am I to take that question to mean that you've agreed to help us?" 

He rewarded them with a _big_ smile, slouching even lower in his chair. "No." His smile was genuine, his captors were falling for his ploy hook, line and sinker. 

"That would be unwise," Sark warned him, secretly enjoying the thought of breaking the man. 

"And I'm sure _Sydney_ would want you to reconsider," Sloane added, menace underlying his even tone. 

"That's where your flaw is," Vaughn smirked, laying his cards on the table. "You told me how important she is to you, and you mentioned to Syd more than once that you think of her as a daughter, even _after_ you apparently learned she was working for _me_ and the CIA. This may not be true the other way around, but your threat to use her _against_ me is meaningless, gentlemen, because you clearly have no intention to hurt her. You would have done so already." 

For a long time Sloane sat and just scrutinized his cocky prisoner, torn between amusement and irritation. The simple logic Vaughn had presented them with had, if anything, caused the former head of SD-6 to want the Agent's help even more, as it was evidence of Vaughn's burgeoning abilities. 

"I'm afraid you're wrong in that assumption," Sark said with cool triumph, pulling out his phone. "_Holen Sie Herrn Caplan innen, bitte._" ("Bring Mr. Caplan in, please.") 

The door opened. Without ceremony, Ricardo shoved the haggard mathematician into a chair at the table and chained him to it securely, before cocking his gun and standing behind Caplan, aiming squarely for the back of his head. 

"You were right, Mr. Vaughn," Sark said mildly. "For now, Ms. Bristow has value to us, as do you. That means we'll allow you both to live until you become more of a hindrance than a help. Mr. Caplan, however, is of no more use to our plans for the future. Why keep alive a resource we no longer need?" 

Sloane held his breath as Sark and Vaughn glared at each other. His partner was bluffing, of course, they both knew that Caplan's brilliance was not to be wasted. But Agent Vaughn's weakness when it came to civilian safety was well-documented. 

"Of course, should Mr. Caplan's continued breathing be all we need to persuade you to help plan Sydney's operation," Sark continued, "then I suppose his usefulness to us is renewed in full. Are we clear?" 

Vaughn closed his eyes briefly, unable to look at Neil. Members of the CIA had been tortured for all sorts of information by all sorts of enemies throughout the years, but had often chosen death instead of talking. As a young boy his father had taught him to admire such operatives and he had always assumed that if such a circumstance happened to him, he'd go out the heroic way, too. 

However, the stories never mentioned that criminals would do things like murder a civilian right in front of an agent if they didn't cave to demands. The majority of Vaughn's colleagues would have accepted Caplan's death as a necessary sacrifice to prevent two known terrorists from learning the ins-and-outs of a CIA facility, just as they would have risked the lives of 300 private citizens inside a bank to assassinate Arvin Sloane. 

But William Vaughn's son could never condone the murder of innocents, no matter the circumstances. _And it's not like I'd be giving them state secrets, right? I'd only be telling Syd how to sneak into a building, something she probably knows anyway. And in the process…_

He opened his eyes, realizing as he did so that Caplan was shaking his head at him, clearly wanting him to refuse. His appreciation for the older man's bravery went up another notch, even as he met Sloane's waiting gaze. 

"I'll help you," he said quietly, angrily, a hopefully more successful plan beginning to take hold. "Spare him and I'll help you." 

* * *

"Listen, thanks for meeting me," Will said awkwardly. "I really appreciate it." 

Elsa responded with a tenuous smile. They sat on a bench at a local park, watching Aaron play on the merry-go-round. 

"I was worried everyone had forgotten about me," she replied quietly. "It's been almost a week with no word. If it wasn't for Aaron…" she trails off, blinking away tears. 

"How old is your son?" Will asked, trying to relax her. 

"He just turned 5," Elsa replied proudly, smiling in spite of herself. It faded quickly. "And he thinks his daddy is just late from work." 

"Listen," Will said. "Do you remember Sydney? And the guy she was with, Vau… uh, Michael?" 

"Of course," Elsa replied, brightening at the names. "How are they? Listen, could you tell them to stop by? I wanted to thank them." 

Will flinched. "Yeah. Listen, after rescuing you and Aaron, they went after the guy that took your husband." 

She sat up straighter. "Oh God! And they rescued Neil? Where is he?" 

Will shook his head. "They uh, got captured." 

Elsa stared at him, horrified. 

"The CIA thinks that they were taken to the same place where your husband is being held," Will told her. "Do you have _any_ information that could help us find out where they are? Maybe you overheard something?" 

"No," Elsa said softly. 

Will frowned, concentrating. He was a former reporter, after all. And right now, the same hunches he had once used to follow a story were screaming at him. 

Elsa Caplan was hiding something. 

**- to be continued -**

Up next… Vaughn and Sydney finally reunite, but their meeting is both good… and not so good. ;) Plus, Vaughn speaks three languages. (Okay, one is English, but that counts!) 

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: Don't know about adventure, but it's about time the characters actually got to work, wouldn't ya say? 

Kay10197: lol, yay! 

Andi Horton: Oh no! Hope this was fast enough, gotta save your knuckles! 

Charmedgal005: Spiffy. 

Kittyfantastico: Now that's dedication! And duh, Vaughn is with me. Who else would carry my books? ;) 'Presages' means guess. Seriously. Well, a prediction or intuition. Which is a guess. Sort of. And no, I'm not babbling. 

K4e: I am so tired, but that's normal. Hope you're coherent, so at least one of us is! 

Anonymousthinker: Lil' SarkGerman for ya, hope you liked! And suuure, you can borrow Vaughn. I have him on days that end in 'y' and Kittyfantastico has him on days that end in 'z', so he's all yours on days that end in 'a'. ;) This story is available on SD-1, if you'd like to avoid the evilness that is FF. lol 

Reverie: I adore your reviews. They're so thoughtful and well thought-out. (And flattering, hee.) Yes, I adore Elsa too. She has a hopefully really cool 'balls of steel' moment later. As for Irina, well, I _could_ answer those questions. If I was nice. Which I'm not. ;) 

UKHoneyB: Kendall pretended to be a jerk for anyone watching, but he approved the mission to give Irina temporary freedom and let Jack think he'd fooled him. :0 

Nattie700: Psssh. Sark is evil. _Evil!_ lol. Not gonna tell me? Hmmph. Tease. ;) I read that back in HS, but it's been awhile. I only remember that I was bored. lol 

**2 or 10?**


	16. Interlude: Specs and Cons

**_Interlude: Specs and Cons_**

"Wonderful!" Sloane beamed. Vaughn's skin crawled at the look of fatherly pride on his captor's face. Noting that, it was Sark's turn to smirk at the table. 

Sloane then summoned another lackey to bring in supplies, and only then did Vaughn steel himself to meet Neil's gaze. The German guard still stood behind the older man, gun at the ready for the killing shot as an unyielding reminder, but Neil himself sat tall and proud in his chair. A curious mixture of gratitude and disappointment warred in his eyes. 

The door opened again and Vaughn ended his contemplation as guards unrolled blueprints of Operations across the long table. Another man set a pencil and a pad of paper in front of him, before bending and unlocking the heavy irons around his ankles. Vaughn raised an eyebrow. With his legs now free and arms hardly inhibited by chains that were as long as he was tall, the temptation to fling the metal chair he was loosely held to at Sloane and Sark's heads was beyond tempting. He had no idea what exactly that would gain him, but he would certainly enjoy it. 

_Focus, Mike_, he ordered himself. Such thoughts were entertaining, but hardly useful. 

"Our asset provided these for us," Sloane broke into the silence. "We hope they'll be enough to jog your memory, since even Mr. Caplan probably knows that they are deliberately inaccurate." 

Vaughn frowned. That was the second time Sloane had referred to an apparent leak inside the joint task force. _Who would betray us like that?_

"Mr. Vaughn?" Sark prompted. 

"Right," he said, annoyed at himself for drifting off into thought. He took a deep breath, preparing himself. Once upon a time, before joining the CIA, he had professed to the dubious "occupation" of pool hustling. His innocent, boyish appearance had suited him well, and it had been a rare opponent indeed that had been able to see through his bluffs. 

But this would be the ultimate hustle. Vaughn again looked at his fellow prisoner, regret welling through him. If he succeeded, it would not only ensure his execution but Caplan's as well. 

_This is for Sydney. Whatever else happens, she will be able to escape._

And that was all that mattered. 

"Right," he said again. "To get into Operations, Sydney has to enter a code to open the door. There's no way to bypass it - " 

"Mr. Vaughn - " 

" - but there are different level codes she can enter. One of those codes will open the door and simultaneously shut down any security cameras…" 

* * *

Three hours later, Vaughn resisted the urge to drum his hands on the table as his two captors reviewed the steps he had written for Sydney. 

_I never would have thought anyone as hard as Kendall _and _Jack existed in critiquing me_, Vaughn thought dryly. _Guess I was wrong._

"Well done," Sloane murmured. "I daresay, Mr. Vaughn, that if things had been different and you had been recruited into SD-6, my organization would exist today despite the CIA's best efforts." 

"We'll never know," he returned, somehow managing to keep a straight face. Sloane's flattery, at first ignorable, was growing in distastefulness. 

"A pity," he replied. "Mr. Sark?" 

The younger man only nodded, his gaze suspicious. Vaughn met his stare evenly, poker face still in evident. 

"Well then," Sloane said, "_Bonsoir à vous, Michel_." (Good evening to you, Michael.") 

While Vaughn started at the almost unfamiliar sound of his first name, Sark gestured to the German guard. The man stepped away from Caplan, allowing another guard to unlock the restraints and reach over to pull the the older man upright. 

"Where are you taking him?" Vaughn demanded sharply. He was ignored and Caplan sagged in the guard's arms as the ever-present syringe made an appearance. The two men then vanished through the door. 

At another nod from Sark, the German guard shouldered his rifle and stepped toward Vaughn, who fought not to react. Without a word, leather straps were fastened around his shoulders and waist, and manacles replaced the long chains, securing his wrists flat against each armrest of the chair. The irons around his ankles were also returned. Thus, the flexibility of the previous bindings were eliminated, and the new restraints were so tight that even breathing became a difficult task. 

"I'll give your best to Agent Bristow," Sark said, his tone amused. Duty done, the guard stepped back and held open the door for Sark, Sloane, and the lackey holding supplies to saunter through. 

Exhausted, Vaughn slumped against the chair, the blue silk of his shirt and the torn bullet hole over the middle sliding strangely against the leather straps in an illusion of laxity. 

Against all odds, he'd done it. 

**- to be continued -**

Okay, I hate to do this _again_, but school is really quite the bother. I'll get the responses next time, okay? 

And because I feel really guilty (and because the SD folks rallied to make this happen), **Chapter Sixteen : Reunion** has also been uploaded and awaits your reading pleasure! 


	17. Visitation

**_Chapter Sixteen - Visitation_**

"That's it?" Sydney asked, amazed. 

"That's it," Sloane affirmed. 

She raised an eyebrow. _Does the CIA know it's really that easy to break in?_

"Mr. Vaughn was very helpful in giving us any information we desired," Sark informed her, sensing her confusion. 

She stared at him, eyes wide. 

"As well as planning most of this," Sloane added dryly. "But I understand that's a typical role for him?" 

_No, no, no._ Sydney swallowed hard, absolutely terrified. For Vaughn to willingly help their captors so dramatically could only mean… 

"Relax, Agent Bristow," Sloane said, amused. "You both have been very well behaved, I must say, and I have indeed kept up my end of the bargain. Just like you, he has not been harmed in any way." 

Sydney shook her head, trembling with rage and fear. "You're lying. Vaughn would _never_…" 

"He seems to have befriended Mr. Caplan," Sark interjected, his tone apathetic. "For whatever reason, he chose for us to spare the mathematician." 

"You hid behind a civilian," Sydney realized, shaking now from relief. _He's okay._ "You forced him to help you by threatening Caplan's life." 

"In this instance, it seemed necessary," Sloane answered, tone unruffled. "Are you ready to begin?" 

"Yes," she replied shortly. "_When_ I see Vaughn." 

"That was not part of the arrangement, Ms. Bristow." 

"Then add it." 

* * *

Michael Vaughn was bored. 

Currently, he sat all by himself at the long table. The German guard watched him stonily from inside the doorway, an automatic rifle in his grip. _Well. All he can say is no._

"_Sind sie, während gebohrt, während ich bin?_" Vaughn asked. ("Are you as bored as I am?") 

The guard straightened, but made no reply. 

"_Angegangen. Sie sagten nicht uns können nicht sprechen. Mein name ist _Michael_, was ist ihr_?" he tried again. ("Come on. They didn't say we couldn't talk. My name is Michael, what's yours?") 

The guard responded by cocking his gun. 

_He probably said no there._ With a sigh, Vaughn fell silent. 

Seconds, minutes, hours, or possibly days later, loud noises outside his current cell startled him out of his bored doze. The guard snapped to attention as well, and Vaughn stiffened helplessly when the man crossed the room to aim the rifle at the back of his head. Before leaving, Sark had informed Ricardo that the spy's death was more preferable than his return to freedom. 

The door opened and the younger blonde man sauntered in. "_Frieden_," he ordered the guard, who stepped back promptly. ("Peace.") 

Sloane also appeared then, guiding a blindfolded visitor. 

"Sydney!" Vaughn breathed, relief coursing through him. 

She jerked away from Sloane at the sound of Vaughn's voice, waiting impatiently for _someone_ to undo the cords holding her hands behind her back. The blindfold she removed herself, eyes scanning the room with raw desperation, until she saw him sitting in a chair off to her left. 

"You have 2 minutes," Sark informed them. "Do not touch his restraints, Agent Bristow." 

And then they all left, including the guard. Sydney turned eagerly. 

"Hi," he said, his tone somewhat sheepish. 

"Vaughn," Sydney choked, rushing forward to kiss him. "Are you…" 

"I'm fine," he soothed. "Bored." 

She laughed at that, sitting unashamedly in his lap and resting her head against his shoulder. 

"Is Caplan-" he started. 

"He's okay," she replied. "I could hear him asking who I was when they brought me in." 

Vaughn sagged in the chair, obviously relieved. 

"Syd," he said quietly. 

"What?" 

He waited until she turned to face him. 

"I don't want to see you again." 

"_What?_" 

"Here," he amended quickly. "I don't want to see you again _here_. When they send you on their ridiculous assignment, I want you to escape." 

Sydney shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "I can't do that. They would kill you!" 

"Probably," he allowed. "But Syd, do you honestly think they'll let me go anyway?" 

"But-" 

"You _know_ I'm right." 

She stared at him. "_That's_ why you helped them so much. You _planned_ for me to get caught." 

He rewarded her with an angelic smile. "When they told me they wouldn't allow you any involvement at all in your mission specs, I took the liberty of planning for every available opportunity. When you leave, you will be ordered to obey every step I gave them." 

"And if during those steps I _happen_ to get caught…" 

He chuckled. "They couldn't claim you weren't heeding instructions. And since you don't know _when_ you'll be caught, your surprise will be genuine." 

"But, Vaughn… they'll take it out on _you_!" 

He responded by kissing her. The door to the room opened. 

"I regret that's all the time we can spare, Agent Bristow. The plane is waiting." 

"Spain," she whispered in his ear, stalling. "Saria." 

_That explains why the guard wouldn't reply to my German._

"Good luck," he said calmly, giving no indication she'd spoken. 

"Thanks," she whispered, eyes welling up with tears despite herself. _This could be the last time I see him…_

He inclined his head in farewell, inwardly cursing wildly at his restraints. If she did what he wanted, he would probably never see her again, and he couldn't even hold her… 

"Ms. Bristow? We are willing to keep you alert on your trip, but we have syringes available if necessary." 

She nodded, kissing him one last time. "See you soon," she whispered, stepping towards the door. 

Vaughn only smiled sadly. "_Je t'aime,_ Sydney Bristow_. Toujours._" ("I love you, Sydney Bristow. Always.") 

And then, blinking back tears that would prematurely give away his sacrifice, she turned and left the room. 

**- to be continued -**


	18. En Route

**_Chapter Seventeen - En Route_**

Sydney scowled. 

She sat in the same "room" of the jet she'd been held in initially, pouring over blueprints and Vaughn's notes. Written in his distinctive slant, they were instantly soothing. 

_Hi, Syd. _

Commit these steps to memory. Consider it a compliment of your talents. 

See you soon. 

- Vaughn 

But despite the intoxicating thoughts that the mere sight of Vaughn's handwriting brought, very real worry was gnawing at her. 

They would keep him alive for a little bit longer, she decided. He was useful as insurance that she would comply with whatever they wanted. But the second his plans for her escape became apparent… 

Sydney shuddered. If he died, so would she. Of that, she had no doubt. He was her reason for breathing; her reason for surviving. He was the man she loved more than anything on this earth; the one person in the world she trusted unconditionally. The one person in the world who fully knew Sydney Bristow for who she was, instead of the bits-of-pieces glimpses of herself she allowed others to see. 

He just _was_. Michael Vaughn was her own personal kaleidoscope of life, love and happiness. Of perfection in its purest form. Of an angel. Her angel. 

And if she lost that… if she lost _him_… 

Resolutely, she wiped her eyes on the sleeve of Vaughn's leather jacket, which had been given to her once they reached the jet as "motivation" by the arrogant prat known as Sark. 

_You're not going to lose him_, she reminded herself. _You're going to get "caught" by the CIA. And then you're going to go with them when they rescue him. So relax._

But the worry continued to persist. 

* * *

"Sir, I feel I must protest." 

Sloane didn't bother to look up as he poured himself a glass of water. Meanwhile, Sark stood impatiently from where the two had been plotting and began to pace. 

"Protest what, Mr. Sark?" 

The younger man stopped where he was, spearing his partner with a glare. 

"You know as well as I do that this so-called assignment will never get off the ground," he bit out. "Sydney will never work for people she hates, especially _you_. And Agent Vaughn was much too cooperative in our planning sessions. He clearly insured something would interfere." 

Sloane sipped his water. "Probably," he agreed. 

Sark stared at him, aghast. "You agreed to this arrangement, knowing you had misgivings?" 

"Indeed I did, Mr. Sark," Sloane replied easily. "The full picture will make up for any hiccups." 

"The full picture?" 

He sighed at the other man's cluelessness. "Sydney's future cooperation is essential to me; to the fulfillment of Rambaldi's prophecy," he explained shortly. "After this assignment, she will return to me _willingly_, out of the desire to learn what I will teach her." 

Sark flinched. He had always known Sloane was insane, but what he was saying… 

"Presuming the assignment is successful, she doubtlessly will return," he reminded, "but only out of fear for Agent Vaughn." 

Sloane waved his hand dismissively. "I ordered Ricardo to execute Mr. Vaughn when I report we've landed in the States. He fulfilled his place in my plans." 

"Your plans?" Sark inquired, forcing himself to remain patient. "If you wish to continue this partnership, I want to know everything. Right now." 

* * *

He was going to die. 

It was an instinct, Vaughn decided. Something ingrained in the most primitive thoughts of the lowest living creatures capable of reason. 

The guard's movements, the way he studied how exactly he should aim the gun with his eyes, the way he had suddenly relaxed his stance, the way he had allowed his weariness to show, it all added up to one single gunshot. 

_Fight!_ His instincts screamed. But he couldn't fight. Still bound firmly to the chair, he wouldn't be able to struggle against his restraints for more than two seconds before he was stopped. 

And then the guard's phone rang. Vaughn swallowed hard, his posture stiffening until he sat perfectly in the chair, parade-back straight. Absently, he noted that his executioner now spoke Spanish, not German. 

There was no longer any need for mind games. 

He raised his head, meeting the other man's gaze bravely. His father, he vowed, would clap him on the back when they reunited in the next two minutes or so. 

_Well done, son! You went out like a man!_

The man raised the gun. Cocked it. Leveled it so the bullet would land in between his eyes. 

Ricardo then paused, wishing to give his victim the chance for final pleas. Not out of cruelty, but respect. He would not lose any honor by doing so, he knew, because a man as honorable as Agent Michael Vaughn could never lose any dignity at all, even when strapped to a chair like an animal. His respect had dawned when he had overheard the two prisoners saying their goodbyes. He alone of the captors knew the sacrifice the man had given to free the woman he loved. 

But the agent remained silent, his bearing calm and stare piercing. He would not give his last words to the man that took his life. He would not soil what he had finally told Sydney in that manner. His final words, and thoughts, would belong solely to her. The guard, realizing that, nodded to him. 

"_Usted es un buen hombre. Seré rápido_," the guard said aloud, surprising perhaps both of them. ("You are a good man. I will be quick.") 

Ricardo's hand tightened on the trigger. Vaughn held the man's gaze, not even seeing the instrument of his death. 

_I love you, Sydney._

And then the door opened and Emily Sloane walked in. 

**- to be continued -**

Just as a reminder, this is an **AU** fiction, which means anything goes. :) 

Review Responses

Andi Horton: There, there! :hands you a tissue: You know what Elsa is holding back, ya nut. Ahem, Vaughn is _mine_! :swats: 

Kayla, kay10197: Yes ma'am. 

Raina: Are you right? No, _I'm_ asking. ;) lol 

Anonymousthinker: Vaughn knew what was going to happen, and wanted to tell her just in case. It kinda just flew out of his mouth. I think he knew that they were there, so he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of a show, so hence the French. I'm sure Syd didn't mind. ;) Oh, and he didn't see through their dirty Caplan trick because he overcompartmentalized and thought Neil's hostage status was unrelated to his. 

Kittyfantastico: Aww! :gushes: Thanks! And like I'd let Vaughn out of my sites for random people to grab. :P 

Lynnie: I think Weiss and Co. have a better chance than little ol' me. Either that or Ricardo. lol ;) 

UKHoneyB: But no Contrivance Jones, I swear. ;) And nope, you didn't have to wait long for them to find out where they were. lol 

Nattie700: LOL, I have 3 little brothers, I can sympathize. ;) 

Maxwell: Well, I hope my humble story was a worthy reward! Plenty of Syd angst and introspection coming up! Stay tuned. ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: Can I plead the Fifth and look really smart? ;) Combination of both. 

Journeyluvr: :gushes: Thanks. ;) 

Mirenne: Wow! Thank you very much! I owe all my canon knowledge and characterizations to my fabulous beta. Take a bow, juju! 

K4e: Evil Sarkie = Good boy? You and words, man. :snickers: 

So this is my genuine first attempt at a cliffhanger. Can you do 15? 

I guess the real question is, can you wait 2 days if you don't? ;)


	19. The Big Bouncing Ball

**_Chapter Eighteen - The Big Bouncing Ball_**

"You're not telling me something." 

"Excuse me?" 

Will leaned forward, intent. "Look. I'm _Will Tippin_. Does my name ring any bells? Heroin? SD-6?" 

Elsa averted her eyes. 

"I know that if you won't tell me, it has to be pretty bad," Will continued quietly. "But Elsa… Mrs. Caplan… let's get one thing clear." 

She sniffled. 

"I just want my friends back," he said quietly. "I know you can understand that. Whatever you're hiding, I swear to God, I don't care. _We_ don't care. This isn't the CIA or the government. This is just us going after people that are hurting Sydney and Vaughn. They will _kill_ them, just like they will kill your husband." 

She swallowed hard. 

"Mommy! Look what I found!" 

Both Will and Elsa looked up, pasting on smiles, as the five year old ran up with a bouquet of dandelions clutched in his fist. 

"Thank you, sweetie," Elsa murmured, taking the gift. "Go and play for a little bit longer, okay? Stay where I can see you." 

"Okay!" Aaron shouted gleefully, dashing back off again. 

"Sydney and Vaughn are the reason why we can sit here together," Will said sharply. "They saved not only your life, but Aaron's, and then got captured while trying to track down _your_ husband! Are you going to repay that by allowing all three of them to die?" 

Elsa flinched but continued to deliberately look away. 

"Fine," Will said, standing in defeat. "Their blood is on _your_ hands." 

He walked away without looking back, pulling out his phone to admit his failure to Jack. 

"Wait! Mr. Tippin! Wait!" 

He turned expectantly. 

"I can help you find your friends, and my husband," she said. "But first, you have to swear to me that whatever happens, my son will be taken care of." 

* * *

Irina paced restlessly in Vaughn's living room. The three men were out trying to find intel, but she was stuck in perhaps the most unusual prison possible. 

In the home of the son left behind when she killed his father. 

William Vaughn was everywhere; Amélie Vaughn was apparently quite the photographer. Pictures of all sizes decorated the walls and any spare space on furniture tops: William and Michael with The Big Bouncing Ball that all young children loved, William and Michael in his grade school uniform, William and Michael at a _Scouts de France_ campout. 

William and Michael and a cake with the number 8. 

And then, rather abruptly, the father/son pictures stopped. 

_Because of me_, she thought, both enthralled and frightened by the power she had wielded. 

* * *

"I wish to speak with this man," Emily said imperiously as she gestured to Vaughn, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Right now." 

It was a puzzle as to who was startled more, the would-be murderer or his would-be victim. Ricardo immediately lowered his gun, having endured countless lectures by Arvin Sloane on his wife's innocence. 

_None of this has anything to do with Emily_, he had ordered every member of his staff, including the younger blonde man he worked with. _None of this will touch her. Am I clear?_

"I…" Ricardo stammered, at an utter loss. 

He wasn't the only one. Vaughn dropped his head, body slumping, noting in the back of his mind that he was shaking. His throat burned and it vaguely occurred to him that he hadn't been breathing. That he still needed to breathe because somehow, inexplicably, he wasn't dead. Dead people didn't need to breathe. 

_Come on, Mike. Snap out of it._

"_Señora_ Sloane…." The guard tried again. 

"And I want to do so in private," she continued icily, ignoring his interruption. 

After a few more moments of stammering, the guard obeyed and left, leaving Vaughn and Emily alone. Arvin's wife waited patiently for him to regain control of himself, her scrutinizing look reminding Vaughn of animal watchers at the zoo. 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: Well, thanks for the permission. ;) Oooh, what article?? I'm still mad at the idiotic In Style people for having MV as most sexy… and than hiding his face in the picture! Hello? lol 

Raina: Yup!!! 

Kay10197: Ooo ooo! I know! :raises hand: 

MB138: Yay! Thanks for reviewing! I loooove new reviewers! Hehe 

Andi: My experience with high water involves a dishwasher with too much soap. I feel your pain. lol. Nope. He's _MINE_. :P 

K4e: Are they gonna go at it? (In the _non_-gutter sense)? Good question. ;)Let's just say that Sark is so much more than a lackey. 

Kira: LOL! Now THAT'S dedication! 

Angela: :gushes: New reviewers totally rock my socks. Thanks for dropping a word! 

Anonymousthinker: LOL, so you like Emily? ;) 

Kittyfantastico: Thank you, I rather enjoyed the whole 'cliffhanger' thing myself. I hear they're more fun when you do one and then make the readers wait a week for the resolution. Maybe I should try that, you think? ;) A _letter_? To _someone_? Ooo, color me scared. 

Nattie700: Wow! Your teacher's quite the celeb! Hmmm, isn't "The Power of Love" a song?? 

UKHoneyB: :whistles: 

Charmedgal005: :sniffles: 

**Up next…**

Spy drawers are not what they seem. Sometimes they have stuff inside. BIG stuff. And okay, anything I now say will sound like innuendo. 

** 2 or 10?**


	20. Spy Drawers

**_Chapter Nineteen - Spy Drawers_**

Somewhere in her wanderings, she had arrived in Vaughn's bedroom. 

Irina stepped forward, nearly tiptoeing on the wooden floor. Despite undoubtedly having been searched by countless agents, the room was sparse and neat, and dust was evident everywhere, including the bedspread. _Even before he was captured… he hadn't slept here in awhile._

Next to his bed, on his tall dresser, sat undeniable evidence of his career choice in the form of six black revolvers, neatly in a row. He or the investigators had tossed a CIA wallet and a flashlight carelessly to the side of them. 

On his nightstand sat a picture of her daughter in a silver antique frame. Irina paused, fascinated at how out of place it seemed in the almost clinical coldness of the rest of the room. The frame, though fading now, was clearly polished regularly and no dust was evident on it or near it. _He has his priorities in order. Good._

And then she frowned. The drawer to the nightstand was slightly open, another seemingly out of place occurrence in the clearly rarely used bedroom. 

Hesitantly, Irina bent and pulled it the rest of the way. The drawer came out grudgingly for about an inch and then stopped altogether. 

Puzzled, she peered into the little crack. It appeared empty. _Contents removed by agents?_ The drawer's reluctance to opening spoke of its little use, but the lack of dust on the night table as a whole was a far more obvious clue. 

_What are you hiding, Mr. Vaughn?_

On impulse, the former KGB spy tried to pull the resisting drawer all the way out. It proved to be such a difficult task that she placed her hands on each side and jerked with all her strength. 

As a result, the drawer crashed to the floor, and she with it. Scowling, she began to pull herself back up. 

And then froze. 

Her hands were _black_. The sides of the drawer had been _coated_ with something to make it almost impossible to remove. 

And then she realized something else. The drawer had no bottom. Enough of the wood had been left in the front and back to hold it together and help it to appear normal to cursory investigations, but the wood in the middle had been entirely removed. 

_Well done, Michael. Well done._

Carefully, she stood up and picked up the flashlight left on Vaughn's tall dresser by the young agent himself, she now suspected. Bending once more in front of the nightstand, she peered into the hole left by the absent drawer. But aside from the heavy coating of the black substance, she saw nothing. 

And then front door unlocked, startling her. 

* * *

Weiss frowned warily, unnerved by the apartment's silence. 

"Ms. Derevko?" he called hesitantly. "Will? Jack?" 

"I'm here," a softly accented voice said from the side. Weiss turned to find Irina standing there, heavy black stains on her shirt and arms. 

"What happened to _you_? I didn't interrupt something, did I?" 

* * *

"I tried to move the night table aside, Agent Weiss, but it refused to move." 

Weiss shook his head, brandishing the flashlight. On impulse, he knelt and studied the floor by it. He laughed, unable to stop himself. 

"Agent Weiss?" 

"It's bolted down," Weiss said, amused. _Mike, when you get back, you'll _never_ hear the end of this. _Ever._ Makes me wonder why you favored Sydney's apartment… yours was clearly more prepared!_

"Agent Vaughn is quite an interesting young man," Irina said. Weiss started, praying she hadn't been able to tell his thoughts. Considering _Jack's_ probable reaction towards the two agents, the old story about marrieds thinking alike, _and_ the fact that Mike hadn't thought to put away the five guns sitting on the dresser behind the two of them before he was captured… the _last_ thing Eric wanted was an angry Irina Derevko. 

"That's one way to put it," he mumbled, studying the infuriating piece of furniture. _What am I missing?_

"There's no dust on the surface," Irina said carefully from where she stood on the left side of him, Weiss having politely requested she not stand at his back since his best friend hadn't bothered to hide his weapons in case a terrorist wandered by. 

"Yeah. So?" 

"So, everything else is covered," she explained patiently. "Either your friend dusted this and nothing else, or…" 

"Or he used it so much that dust could never form," Weiss finished. She nodded. 

"Ms. Derevko, you said he left the flashlight out." 

"By the guns," she said innocently. 

"Right. Did he leave anything else?" 

She shrugged. "Just his ID wallet." 

Weiss frowned. "He would have taken it with him to Zurich. We're required to." 

"I am aware of CIA policy," Irina Derevko returned. "But despite that, it is indeed sitting there." 

Grumbling about idiot friends, Weiss stepped over and picked up the black leather wallet, flipping it open with expert ease. 

It was empty. "A spare one, probably," Weiss said aloud, though he doubted it. _Come on, Mike. Throw me a bone._

With growing exasperation, he waved the wallet around haphazardly. Only then did he become aware of a slightly chunky feeling in the back. 

Weiss looked over at Sydney's mother, shaking his head in amazement. "Just like Mike to hide something so out in the open that no one would ever find it." 

Gently, he pulled apart the wallet, noting dryly that it had a fake back. _False drawers, sure, but wallets with false backs? You outdid yourself, Michael. I wonder why._

Deftly, he removed the extra strip of cloth… and found a brass key hidden behind it. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Vaughn and Emily discover a common bond, but will it be enough to spare a certain agent? (See Review Responses for a one-line teaser from this chapter!) 

Review Responses

Hmmmm. Everyone must be out of town for the weekend?? 

Nattie700: Argh, I can relate. I got my first glasses in third grade, man. 

Kay10197: It's next, I swear! 

Ilovemypenguin: LOL ohhh. Yeah, saw that one. Old pic, but always lovely. 

Anonymousthinker: Hey now! She's a married woman! LOL 

Kira: :gushes: Awwww! Thank you! So sorry I couldn't update yesterday. :( Hits are normal (around 280!) but no one reviewed for some reason! Should I take it personally? lol 

Angela: Good 'ole Will. I always felt like he got an undeserved bad rap from too-intense shippers. If he really was annoying, Jack woulda killed him! lol 

Kittyfantastico: :snerks: I hear Egypt is nice this time of year. ;) But I think that'd be a fun experiment! 

UKHoneyB: LOL! Well thanks for the clarification. Hehe. 

Teaser: "Make it fast?" 


	21. Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:** Whoa! I mention my wonderings at reviews, and I get gobs? Not complaining. ;) This early chapter is dedicated to everyone that reappeared. And heck, if there's another 10 in an hour, you'll get another early one. I love reviewers. ;) 

**_Chapter Twenty - Quid Pro Quo_**

"_J'ai des questions. Pouvez-vous leur répondre?_" Emily said nervously to the man she'd just saved, though perhaps only temporarily if her husband found out. ("I have questions. Can you answer them?") 

"_Je peux essayer_," Vaughn replied, forcing himself out of his stupor. ("I can try.") "And I speak English." 

She favored him with a smile. "All right. Your name is Michael Vaughn and you work for the CIA, correct?" 

"Yes," Vaughn answered slowly, beginning to wonder if the execution had in fact been staged and this was Sloane's way of tricking him into saying something. _No. Syd trusts Emily. At least she did before she 'died'._ "Forgive me, Mrs. Sloane, but if you knew enough about me to know I spoke French, how could you not be certain you knew my name? How did you know that they were going to… how did you know about this place?" 

She sank down into a chair, every move indicative of deep exhaustion. "I love my husband, Agent Vaughn. But I'm terrified of him." 

She took a deep breath. Vaughn remained silent, content for her to answer him at her own pace. "Before he left, he told me things. I'm not a stupid person, at least I don't think I am. But the things he said… the things he admitted to doing after he had sworn to me that he would never lie to me again…" 

She trailed off. He waited patiently. 

"My husband lied to me for years about working at a bank. Credit Dauphine. Of course, what he was actually doing was working for intelligence. I knew that the second day after he started." 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. 

"And when I deduced from overhearing things that he had been transferred to a highly dangerous and highly classified branch of the CIA called SD-6, I would cry myself to sleep every night he went away, because I was certain I would never see him again. And when he told me the truth…" 

"I can understand how you felt," Vaughn told her when she paused, clearly having trouble continuing. He was inwardly surprised he was confiding in a woman he knew only from second-hand knowledge; a woman that had, for all intents and purposes, learned well from her husband and somehow managed to fake her own death. But Emily Sloane, despite that, remained the principled and slightly naïve woman Sydney had described to him. 

"Sydney is very special to me," she continued, somewhat awkwardly. "Arvin told me that she said in her speech at my funeral that she thought of me as her mother. I have _always_ thought of her as my daughter." 

"She cared for you," Vaughn heard himself saying. "When she thought you died… her grief was tremendous." 

Emily nodded, forcing herself to ignore his subtle accusation for the sake of saying what she needed to. "My husband has a trait that is admirable sometimes, but can be his own worst enemy, Agent Vaughn. When he becomes obsessed with something, no matter what it is… he is literally consumed by it." 

Her voice was tremulous, but she somehow managed to continue. "This Rambaldi quest… his obsession for it frightens me. I know you won't believe me, but my husband was once a good man." 

Somehow, Vaughn managed to hold his tongue. 

"He went back to Los Angeles to fulfill what he calls 'a major step'," Emily said quietly. "Agent Vaughn, when he told me about SD-6… he told me…" 

She broke down. Vaughn watched from the chair, torn between empathy for the beautiful and fragile woman that had saved his life, and satisfaction that the pain Sydney had experienced because of Emily Sloane was being repaid in full. 

"We can help each other, Agent Vaughn," Emily said, drying her eyes. "If I give you back your freedom, will you promise me something?" 

He waited, eyes meeting hers. 

"Promise me that when you catch him," Emily whispered, "that you won't seek the death penalty. In prison, cut him off from Rambaldi… there's a chance the man I love will come back. I won't let you capture him just to permanently lose him." 

Vaughn shook his head. "I'm sorry Mrs. Sloane, but that's not up to me." He leaned forward as much as he could. "And to be frank, I would rather die than give your husband any chance at dignity when he's finally caught. He earned his fate." 

She nodded, her breath hitching. "I knew you'd say that," she choked out. She stood up, resolution in her movements as she withdrew a key from the folds of her dress. Slowly, she moved in front of him, holding it just out of his reach. 

"I knew that Arvin was up to something big," she said, voice infinitely tired. "I woke up when he drove away from our house this morning and I… I followed him. He is not the only one of us capable of trickery." 

"That's why you thought I was French. You overheard me when I - " 

She nodded wordlessly, reaching over and to unlock the manacle holding his left hand to the armrest of the chair. She then followed that by undoing the straps around his shoulders and waist, enabling him to accept the key from her and work on the handcuff on his other wrist with fingers that were red from the sudden return of blood flow. 

"I wasn't lying, Agent Vaughn, when I told you I loved Sydney as my own," Emily said quietly as she stepped back. "She has had to go through so much… and as a mother, I could never add to her pain by contributing to your death, regardless of how you answered my request. I've already hurt her enough." 

She turned to leave. "I'll stall Ricardo for as long as I can," she told him, "but you'd better hurry. He isn't the only staff member here, and if they see you, they'll probably finish what I interrupted." 

He bent, struggling with stiff fingers to unlock the chains around his ankles. Emily finally returned and did it for him. 

"Do you… did you see another man here?" 

She shook her head. Vaughn sighed, wondering if Caplan had met the same fate that had been intended for him. His thoughts darkened. _Sloane will pay for what he's done, even if I have to shoot him myself._

"You want to kill him," she guessed, reading his thoughts. "For what he's done to Sydney." 

"Yes," Vaughn answered honestly. 

She nodded quickly. "Then, Agent Vaughn, there _is_ a promise you can make to me." 

He rose quickly from the chair, but staggered almost immediately as cramped muscles unused to movement asserted themselves. Barely catching himself on the table with trembling arms, he somehow managed to look up at her again. 

"Make it fast?" she entreated softly, blinking away returning tears. 

Not trusting his voice, but knowing he owed her that much, he met her pleading gaze and nodded slowly. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Oh, only Sloane reveals his plans. Nothing important or anything. Also, the Nightstand Debacle is explained. One-line teaser hidden in review responses. ;) 

Review Responses

Valley_girl2: LOL, you should stop by the _Presages_ thread at SD-1. People there were diligently working to figure out the Nightstand Debacle. I, of course, was VERY helpful with clues. :snerks: 

Kira: Hopefully! 

MJ: :0 k, that looooong review certainly made up for it! LOL. Happy labor day to you! 

K4e: LOL, that's understandable. ;) Bleach your brains, ay? 'Least you're honest! You survived 300-word chapters in _Surmising_! These are like 3 times that! LOL 

Mayleen: But are they good secrets or bad secrets? ;) 

Winking Tiger: Hmmm. I'll give your eloquent request due consideration. Hee. 

Teaser: "I hardly think she'll be useful in a _cell_."

Anonymousthinker: EWWWWW! EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Ahem. Hehe, it's a key, not a ring. ;) But I love my new _Two Towers_ DVD, too. 

Maxwell: :salutes: 

Kittyfantastico: Oh, me too! I refuse to think JJ would be so disrespectful of his fans. ;) No worries! I actually hate posting cliffhangers, because I can't wait for people's reactions when they read the resolution! A week would _kill_ me. LOL 

UKHoneyB: Next chapter, actually. ;) 

Nattie700: Evil teacher! But Vaughn is a _cute _genius! LOL 

Raina Elizibeth: Yup, you know what he's hiding. ;) 

**2 or 10?**


	22. Antique Discoveries

**_Chapter Twenty One - Antique Discoveries _**

The safehouse was dark and dirty, and Sark barely managed to suppress a noise of displeasure. He was a man with high tastes, and to be forced into such uncomfortable settings did not sit well with him. Sloane meanwhile, sank easily into a folding chair, seemingly unconcerned. 

"I'm still waiting," Sark snapped. Sloane had stalled long enough, in his opinion. No less than four long hours had passed, in which they had given Sydney an earpiece and sent her off, made a significant phone call to Spain, _and_ had arranged for their other cargo to be taken to a workplace outside of town where he would await Irina's convenience. 

"Have you forgotten, Mr. Sark, about the investigation surrounding the recently departed Mr. Vaughn's recent activity? The CIA is all but convinced that he was the mole feeding us information." 

"I don't forget anything," Sark replied, his tone petulant. He sank down into the chair facing his partner, his arms crossed. Would it not have been for his reputation, he seemed for all the world like a little boy told he couldn't go out and play for the day, 

"Of course," Sloane replied dryly, amused at the mental imagery. "Thanks to our source, Kendall is also harboring suspicions about our dear Agent Bristow." 

Sark snorted. "They think she would turn? Preposterous." 

"Hardly," Sloane smiled. "Love is a fickle thing. The CIA believes that she would have willingly turned if Mr. Vaughn asked her to do so." 

_Interesting._ Sark raised an eyebrow. 

"I have no doubt Mr. Vaughn arranged for Sydney to be rescued during her break-in," Sloane said pensively. "But what neither of them knew, is that she won't be rescued, Mr. Sark. She'll be arrested." 

"I hardly think she'll be useful in a _cell_," Sark snapped. "Which is where she will be after she's arrested." 

"I don't doubt that," Sloane said. "But the cell will accomplish something, Mr. Sark. You see, Sydney can handle many things. She is a very talented young woman. But she will view her arrest as a betrayal by the only people she thought she could trust; her father, her mother, the CIA, the FBI, and most notably, her vanished lover Michael, whose mysterious acts caused her to be treated like a criminal." Sloane leaned forward, a triumphant smirk on his face. "And you know as well as I do that she will not permit herself to be held for long." 

"Agent Bristow's record indicates her difficulty to handle betrayal," Sark said slowly, realization dawning on him. 

Sloane nodded. "The last time that happened, she betrayed SD-6. If the people she feels she can trust turn on her, Sydney will not be able to deal with that crisis. She'll return to people that are familiar. Myself." 

"It could be argued, sir, that Sydney will instead do something completely independent of the CIA and us," Sark interjected. 

Sloane shook his head. "She will want to know why they turned on her. Our resources, Mr. Sark, will come in handy for her quest to regain their trust. And in return, she will help us however we see fit." 

* * *

"So…" Weiss mused. "We have a drawer with no middle, a night table bolted to the floor, and a key that fits no door in Mike's apartment." _Okay, maybe you two _did_ use this apartment, because that's the only explanation that makes sense. Games, anyone?_

"It's a safe," a voice said from the doorway. Irina and Eric turned to find Jack standing there watching them. Sydney's father pointed towards the surface of the night table. "See how there's no dust? The surface can either be removed or opens up. The safe sits beneath the drawer, which is why the middle is cut out." 

"I don't buy it," Weiss said, even as he surrendered the key to Jack. "Why go to the trouble of hiding it so elaborately, if it's a safe that can be opened by a key?" 

Busy removing the lamp and the frame, Jack studied the now-empty surface carefully, leaning over to run his hands underneath the lip of the wood. His fingers found the switch on the back of the table and he pushed the button without hesitation. The surface popped up immediately and upon removing it, the safe was clearly visible. 

He shrugged, glancing back at the two of them before reaching in and unlocking it. "Your friend seems to favor antiques, Agent Weiss." 

* * *

Vaughn was forced to wait almost three minutes while his body recovered, protesting against movement since he had been held in one position for so long. But the second he felt he could stand without leaning on the table, he headed for the door, pausing on his way out to pick up the heavy shackles that had bound his ankles. 

Without his service pistol or his knife, they were the only defense he had. 

Cautiously, he leaned against the door. Emily had indeed kept her word; the guard was nowhere in sight. 

Moving slowly, partly out of stealth and partly out of weakness, Vaughn turned and headed down the hallway. He'd gone perhaps ten feet when he was tackled from the side, the impact sending him crashing into the wall with devastating force. 

**- to be continued -**

Wow wow wow! Like I said, you give me ten reviews, I give you early chapters! lol. Hope you enjoyed early chapter #2. ;) I'm more than willing to do #3! 

_Up next_: Three people are betrayed and one person dies. One-line teaser buried in Review Responses. They're easier to find if you review. ;) 

Review Responses

wonder monkey: :smiles and nods: 

Lynnie: No review is ever lame! A CABIN? Nice! 

Snowangel4: I confess, I only update so fast because I always try to finish or mostly finish a story before I post on FF.net. This one is actually done up through Chapter 32. 

Erin: It helped! See? You helped me! LOL. And wow! Thanks! 

Teaser: _Usted es un buen hombre. Seré rápido._

Ilovemypenguin: Hope this helped unlock part of that mystery. Ack! Bad pun! 

Maxwell: Argh. Season 3. More dreading than excited. 

gum-addict: LOL, go observant you! You'll see it again later. ;) 

Anonymousthinker: Hey! No twisting Jinnie's words! Bad! Evil, hmmm? ;) 

C-n-C: 'Splainin', ay? :shudders: 

Winking Tiger: Ahhh. Trying the ol' flattery method with me, ay? I am immune! Really! 

Kay10197: I want one of Vaughn's nightstands! lol 

Whit: :crosses fingers: 

**2 or 10? **


	23. Sudden Betrayal

**_Chapter Twenty Two - Sudden Betrayal_**

Even as he allowed himself to be pulled to the ground, Vaughn forcibly shook off his daze and thrashed wildly, one hand catching the gun in the man's hand and holding it up towards the ceiling while the other searched blindly for the shackles. 

"_Parada!_" Ricardo ordered. ("Stop!") He slammed the agent against the wall, _hard_. But as he hit, Vaughn finally found the heavy restraints. Without hesitating, he threw them directly at the guard's face. 

Out of reflex, Ricardo ducked. Vaughn seized the moment of distraction to tackle _him_, catching the gun as it flew out of his grip. 

"_Usted es un buen hombre. Seré rápido_," Vaughn said swiftly, waiting for the other man to stop, eyes widening as realization set in, as he realized that his former hostage would show him the same mercy. ("You are a good man. I will be quick.") 

And then Vaughn fired. 

* * *

The cell was empty. 

The _cell_ was empty. 

The cell was _empty_. 

Sydney stared, disbelieving. All the work, all the threats… and _the cell was empty!_

"This is Refugee," she said sharply to the two men listening, automatically rolling her eyes at the saturnine codename. "The package is _out_ of the wrapping. And if this is a game you're playing, I swear to God…" 

* * *

Sark looked sharply at Sloane, who returned his glare evenly. 

"Stop!" a voice barked through the receiver. "Drop your gun and put your hands up! Now!" 

Sloane smiled broadly. 

* * *

Sydney whirled, hands flying to her sides. The leather jacket creaked with her movements, providing a sharp reminder that Vaughn had indeed arranged for her rescue, and quite possibly his own death in the process . "Wait!" she said swiftly. "Wait! I'm an agent of this facility, acting under duress! Sydney Bristow! Code name Mountineer! Officer number 2300844!" 

Silence. The agents holding guns on her refused to yield, much to her confusion. _Why aren't they glad to see me? What's going on?_

And then a voice spoke from the back. Kendall. 

"We know who you are, Agent Bristow. You triggered silent alarms the instant you gained entry with an outdated security code. We tracked you on cameras as you made for this area. Though you brought yourself to the cell willingly, we cannot classify you as a walk-in. Do you understand?" 

Sydney stared. _If they knew that, why didn't they intervene? They knew I was captured! What's going on?_

"Agent Parker, would you do the honors?" Kendall asked. 

A man pushed through the throng of armed agents. Sydney watched him, dread creeping up on her, though she didn't know why. 

"Agent Bristow, you are under arrest for charges of mishandling classified information, aiding in treasonous activity, breaking and entering, and aiding and abetting a fugitive," the man began. "You have the right to remain silent…" 

* * *

"Sure," Will stammered, somewhat thrown by Elsa's intensity. "Of course. But how could you know where-" 

She took a deep breath, leaning closer to him. 

"Seven years ago I was ordered to seduce and marry Neil," she told him bluntly. "My objective was to keep tabs on his work. I was given a tracking device to implant in his arm. With the right equipment, I can activate it." 

"You're a spy," Will said incredulously. _Why is it always spies?_

She nodded calmly, though Will could clearly see she was trembling. "I was recruited by the Russian SVR." 

Will's eyes widened. _Why is it always _Russian_ spies?_ "Look-" 

She ignored him, her eyes hardening as she sensed his thoughts. "I just committed treason against my government because I want to get him back!" 

"Why? Because I know all about you guys… Sydney's my best friend and her mother…" 

She met his gaze, trying to make her sincerity clear. "I'm telling you because I love him." 

* * *

Vaughn whirled away from the dead guard as shouts echoed down the hall. Beyond relieved that he now had a gun, he tore down the opposite direction… only to run right into another man. 

He didn't hesitate. Ignoring his automatic desire to flee, he fired wildly. The man collapsed and he continued down the hallway without looking back. 

* * *

"Okay," Jack conceded grudgingly. "Perhaps the safe is little more complicated." 

The three of them peered into the faux night table, Weiss fighting amusement and Irina nodding to herself. _As clever as his father._

The key had fit smoothly into the safe but when Jack went to open it, he had instead found an even smaller safe inside. And unlike the antique, this one was state-of-the-art and demanded a six digit code to unlock it. 

"Any suggestions, Agent Weiss?" 

He jumped, startled. "Uh, why would you think I would have any?" 

"He's _your_ friend." Jack was growing noticeably impatient. 

"Well," Weiss said, snapping back at Jack Bristow without thinking. "He's your… uh, he's dating _your_ daughter." 

"041774," Irina interjected, perhaps saving him from a very painful death. 

"Huh?" 

Jack was already punching it in. "Sydney's birthday, Agent Weiss." 

Eric nodded. _I knew that_, he thought silently, not daring to speak it aloud. He'd been spared once already, saved by Irina Derevko, of all people. But he also knew something else: His best friend was not _that_ obvious. _That's not right_. 

Sure enough, Jack swore as the safe rejected that combination. 

"Try 100101," Weiss said. 

Shrugging, Jack did so. The safe beeped acceptance. 

"What day is that?" Irina asked curiously. 

Weiss spared her a glance, eagerly anticipating opening the safe. "Day they met." 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Irina's world goes topsy-turvy. 

Can I just say how I'm loving these reviews? You guys rock! 

Review Responses

Ilovemypenguin: Vaughn is mine! :P 

Valley_girl2: I really enjoy your reviews! Don't fall off! And I WAS helpful! Don't listen to them! lol 

Maxwell: Can't… breathe… :wheeze: 

Teaser: Her daughter sat inside, on the side _she_ should be in, watching their approach with wide eyes. 

Wonder monkey: Your wish is my command! 

Kay10197: Vaughn's safe contents will be realized by the most logical and yet (hopefully) unexpected person. 

Mayleen: I updated! Come back! LOL 

Winking Tiger: Hope this was fast enough! Meant to upload even earlier, but dang client had an emergency. lol 

Raina Elizibeth: LOL, I dunno! You tell me. ;) 

Arwen Vaughn: I already know what's gonna happen! My sleep is very sound. ;) 

Anonymousthinker: Well, I don't think you'll be shedding any tears over Ricardo, at least. ;) Go Action!Vaughn Go! 

Kittyfantastico: Awww. Glad my teasers are of aid! ;) I adore Sark. As long as he's Mr. Mysterious and not associated with Sarkney. Two reviews! You spoiled _me_. ;) 

Nattie700: :smiles and nods: LOL. I love teasers! There will always be one hidden in review responses. ;) 

UKHoneyB: Nope. ;) 

**2 or 10?**


	24. Skyscrapers in the Distance

**_Chapter Twenty Three - Skyscrapers in the Distance_**

"What is this?" Sydney demanded. 

She stood on the wrong side of the glass window, glaring ferociously at Kendall. 

"That's what I've been wanting to ask you," he replied, matching her tone. He held up the leather jacket, borrowed from analysis to try to coax her into cooperating. "Where's Agent Vaughn?" 

She frowned warily. Had this been normal circumstances he wouldn't have had to ask, but something about his tone… "Answer me and I'll answer you." 

He sighed, shaking his head. "This doesn't look good, Agent Bristow. On top of everything else, the fact that you would break into here, with an earpiece that clearly indicates you were working for someone… Your cooperation might get you a lesser sentence. I'm telling you this as a courtesy." 

"A lesser sentence of what?" she exploded, frustrated. "I don't know what you're talking about!" 

"I'll spell it out for you," he replied shortly. "Agent Vaughn was quite busy the past few months before the little event in Zurich." 

"'Little _event_?'" 

He ignored her. "We have surveillance of him in meetings all over the world with enemies of the United States; assassins, intelligence operatives, you name it, all without authorization. And he downloaded a program to read classified documents on his personal laptop, breaking the law in the process. Right now, Agent Bristow, he is our leading suspect for being the mole that fed Sloane and Sark all sorts of information." 

Sydney's jaw dropped. 

* * *

"Well," Weiss said, fighting a spontaneous urge to rub his hands together. "Let's see what Mike has been up to." 

The three of them knelt on the floor, papers and folders spread out in front of them on Vaughn's dusty bed. Without a glance at his two 'coworkers', Jack reached for the first folder… 

"Guys!" 

They whirled, task temporarily forgotten. Will stood there, a nervous Elsa and Aaron Caplan standing behind him. 

"We have something to tell you," Will informed them. 

* * *

Guards that called for backup were a wonderful thing, Vaughn decided. 

Standing outside the warehouse, he spotted no less than seven black Chevrolets, all empty. Their owners were doubtlessly hunting for him inside the building. 

Vaughn sprinted immediately for the first one, all but throwing himself inside. It took only seconds to hotwire the engine and start the car, an ability he owed to Eric's drunken teachings. _Thanks, Weiss._

He was peeling out of there even as his pursuers heard the roar of the engine and began to head towards him. 

* * *

There were terrifying things in this world, Will decided, and he had already seen most of them. Sark, Sydney out of nowhere, the Asian guy… 

But none of them held a candle to a fully angry Jack Bristow. 

All but shaking, he risked a glance toward the others to gauge their reactions to his revelation. Eric looked like he was going to be ill, Elsa _was_ shaking, Aaron was looking up at the adults with huge eyes, and Irina… 

… looked amused. 

* * *

"_Where have you been?_" 

With a heavy heart, Dixon ascended the stairs of his home. His beautiful wife stood waiting for him, door cracked open just not enough for him to see her slender form. 

"I…" he cleared his throat. "There's been a situation, Diane." 

"With the CIA?" she asked curtly. 

"Yes, but-" 

She cut him off, eyes flashing. "I told you Marcus, you can't have both. Looks to me like you've made your decision." 

She opened the door fully. Marcus flinched at the sight of his suitcase, already packed and sitting off to the side. 

* * *

"Jack, do you really think that's necessary?" 

He ignored her purposely, reaching for his cell phone. "Do you really think it's not, Irina? That woman is a traitor-" 

"Yes, she is," Irina said sharply. "To _her_ government, not yours! How can you not see that?" 

And then she realized. "Jack, Elsa Caplan and I are not the same person." 

He didn't reply, simply glared harder and waited impatiently for Kendall to answer his phone. 

"Yes," he said curtly when the phone finally clicked. "Agent Kendall, there's something you should…" 

And then he stopped, eyes widening as Kendall interrupted him with rather pertinent news. 

"_What?_" 

* * *

_Why is it_, Vaughn ranted internally, _that warehouses are always built in the middle of nowhere?_

Near as he could tell, he'd been driving for 2 hours and still had yet to reach the skyscrapers he could see in the distance. 

His thoughts raced along almost as fast as the stolen car. Once he reached whatever city was ahead, he would hopefully be able to locate an embassy. Or a safehouse. Or at the very least, a phone. 

* * *

Irina couldn't help but feel a sense of unreality. 

She stood next to Jack, watching the bars go up to allow them entry into the cell's viewing area. Her daughter sat inside, on the side _she_ should be in, watching their approach with wide eyes. 

Of all the things she had thought possible, visiting her daughter while Sydney sat in a CIA cell was not even remotely near that list. 

**- to be continued -**

Review responses tomorrow, okay? DVDs to watch and 100-point homework to do. Yes, in that order. ;) 

**But in exchange…**

_Easy-to-find-teaser_: From **Chapter 24**:   
If asked, Vaughn would've said that his day could not get any worse. Kidnapped, marked for execution, tackled and thrown into a wall… it all added up to perhaps the most terrible day a person could ever have. It hardly seemed possible that anything _else_ could happen to him. 

But apparently it _was_ possible, as indicated by the flashing lights in his stolen car's rearview mirror. 

**2 or 10? ;)**


	25. Under the Rug

**_Chapter Twenty Four - Under the Rug_**

If asked, Vaughn would've said that his day could not get any worse. Kidnapped, marked for execution, tackled and thrown into a wall… it all added up to perhaps the most terrible day a person could ever have. It hardly seemed possible that anything _else_ could happen to him. 

But apparently it _was_ possible, as indicated by the flashing lights in his stolen car's rearview mirror. 

* * *

Weiss stood at the backs of the elder Bristows - correction, the elder Bristow and a Derevko - and tried not to pinch himself. It seemed the only solution to the topsy-turvy world he had woken up to the morning Sloane had decided that Michael and Sydney would make _excellent_ pleasure-driving company. 

"Dad! Mom! Have you heard from Vaughn? Is he okay?" 

"We haven't heard anything," Jack told Sydney gently, even as she spotted Weiss standing behind them and waved him forward. 

"Hey," he said awkwardly, feeling like an intruder as he stood between Sydney's parents. _This is Mike's spot. Thank God._ "Uh, I haven't heard anything either." 

"I know," she replied, somewhat dryly. "I was wondering… these charges against Vaughn… do you know _anything_? He was captured _with _me! The way they _treated_ him… the way they _threatened_ him… there's _no_ way that he could be working with Sloane and Sark! He is _not_ disloyal!" 

Weiss gulped, pure rage replacing his normally even demeanor at the hints of what Michael had experienced. _Was _experiencing, at that very moment. His vision turned red and he shivered involuntarily. _They'll die for this, at my hand. Slowly, and in great pain._

Sensing his mutual thoughts, Sydney nodded to him. _You'll have to get in line_, she thought silently. _I go first._

"Believe me, Syd- uh, Agent Bristow, I've sat through all sorts of Q & A sessions, but I know as much as you about what he was doing. Which is, you know, nothing." 

The bars behind them rattled. All of them turned as Kendall strode in to join them. 

* * *

"_Mirada_, _mi nombre es Michael Vaughn y soy oficial con la CIA Americana_." Vaughn said wearily to the officer standing outside the car window. ("Look. My name is Michael Vaughn and I'm an officer with the American CIA.") 

The officer rolled his eyes, having heard every possible excuse from drivers trying to get out of tickets, although this one _was_ quite imaginative. The American had clearly found himself in a bar scuffle or two and the remnants of alcohol were apparently toying with his mind. He kept his tone smooth and non-confrontational. "_Por supuesto. Licencia y registro, por favor_." ("Of course. License and registration, please.") 

Vaughn shook his head. "No! Ah, _no, estoy diciendo la verdad_!" ("No, I'm telling the truth!") 

The other man sighed impatiently. "_¿Entonces puedo ver su identificación, por favor_?" 

("Then can I see your identification, please?") 

Vaughn scowled. His ID was in his jacket pocket, and Lord knew where _that_ was. "_No lo tengo... fui tomado de mí. Por favor, I..._" ("I don't have... it was taken from me. Please, I...") 

The officer snorted, torn between amusement and annoyance. "_La derecha. ¿Usted importaría de salir del coche, por favor?_" ("Right. Would you mind getting out of the car, please?") 

Vaughn's jaw dropped, even as he obliged the order. _He thinks I'm drunk!_

"_Escuche mí. Soy un oficial de la CIA que fue encarcelado aquí contra mi voluntad. Estoy intentando encontrar una manera de entrar en contacto con a mis superiores y..._" ("Listen to me. I'm a CIA officer that was imprisoned here against my will. I'm trying to find a way to contact my superiors and...") 

Vaughn trailed off, realizing that the man was about to bust out laughing. He searched his mind, trying to come up with a way to convince this man to help him. But the police officer did it for him, eyes widening as he saw the telltale bullet hole in the center of Vaughn's blue silk shirt. 

* * *

"I'm here to give you one final chance to confess, Ms. Bristow," Kendall said curtly. "I'd suggest you'd take it." 

Sydney stared at him, steaming. Vaughn was still a captive and the FBI operative seemed certain of her guilt! _Déjà vu, that part._

And then the sound of a cell phone ringing cut through the tension. 

* * *

Weiss groaned, horrified. _Of all the times for you to ring!_ he berated his phone. Fully aware of the glares of the other four people, he pulled it out quickly. 

"Weiss," he said shortly. _You had better be someone important._

"Eric? It's me." 

He froze, aggravation immediately fading away. _They wouldn't let him… oh, thank God!_

And then he remembered Kendall's presence. And the cameras. And the cell. And the investigation. 

"Uh, hi Mom!" 

* * *

Vaughn blinked, trading puzzled glances with the Spanish police officer that had heard Weiss' voice boom out of the phone. _Huh?_

"Weiss… it's _Michael_. Listen, I just got out. Is Syd with you?" 

* * *

"Oh, she's right here," Weiss answered brightly, before he realized what he had said and resisted the urge to smack his forehead. Kendall looked at him sharply. "Yup, my favorite tie and I never go _anywhere_ without each other. You have great taste, _Mom_!" 

"Oh, my God. Weiss, what time is it there? Are you _drunk_?" 

"No," Weiss stammered. This was not going well. Why couldn't Kendall _leave_? 

"Right. Sure. Okay, listen. I'm going to make my way to the American embassy in Madrid and-" 

Weiss froze. _They'll arrest him if he does that!_

"Uh, no, don't do that," he said quickly. "The curtains do _not_ go with your carpet. You know that store down 47th? It's called, uh, Under the Rug? You could go there and grab a throw rug or something that would make everything go together. Or at the very least, it would cover up those stains underneath the _night table_." 

* * *

Vaughn paused. _He's either drunk or trying to tell me something._

With Eric Weiss, it was hard to tell. 

* * *

"Agent Weiss, if you don't mind-" 

"Right," he apologized to Kendall. "Sorry. Um, Mom? Listen, I have to go. Stay put and I'll come and help you look after I get off work, okay?" 

* * *

Vaughn shook his head. "Whatever. Listen. Madrid. Hotel El Coloso. I'll book under Delorme." 

* * *

"See you then, Mom!" 

Weiss disconnected, dimly aware of the fact that he had probably lost more than a few pounds during the course of that conversation. _The Michael and Sydney Diet. I should market it._

"Sorry," he apologized again. Kendall looked annoyed, but nodded. 

Sydney, however, flashed him a discreet smile of thanks. 

**- to be continued -**

Please forgive any language errors!

_Up next:_ Weiss has bad news. 

Review Responses

wonder monkey: LOL, sorry! That was actually long chapter length for me. You shoulda seen my last story, my chapters averaged half that. LOL 

Anonymousthinker: I just wrote a big revenge moment for him, I swear. ;) Well, revenge the Vaughn way which is, you know, stooped in morals and all. But still amusing. Homework, eh? I can relate. I'm really getting hammered this semester. Hope Spanish!Vaughn And Weiss the Great helped lighten your load. ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: Sorry! :( I love responding to reviews, mainly because I _love_ reviews! But sometimes "real life" interferes. Sucks, man. Don't those people know there's _fanfic_? I come on every morning to (hopefully) read reviews, so I can relate! 

Erin: :blushes: well, thanks! I hope so! I as a reader _hate_ it when authors assign characters to chapters. I try to have a much a mixture as possible so everyone gets at least mostly regular glimpses of their favorites. 

Maxwell: ROTFL! Soon. ;) I love your reviews, they're so unique! 

Teaser: "You look like hell."

valley-girl2: Well gee, when you put it that way, how can I _not_ update? lol. You strapped down? Good and tight! ;) A life, ay? I should get me one of those! 

MvsGirl: Welcome back!!! 

Raina Elizibeth: You'll see. ;) 

UKHoneyB: :snerks: I couldn't resist. Poor guy! LOL 

Nattie700: I'm glad your eyes are okay! I just got new lenses and stuff and the prescription is wayyy too strong, so I have to go back. :( The _Alias_ DVDs are awesome, man! And I love teasers, too. ;) See the one for next chapter? 

C-n-C: When? Now! You do, do you? Do tell. ;) 

Mayleen: Phew! What a relief! hehe 

Chelsea: Thanks. :)

Kittyfantastico: Have a safe trip!!! I expect a full recap! And uh, mail presents to… ;) 

MJ: Awww! I had to drop everything once I saw your review, so we're even. ;) About Ricardo… he had demonstrated that whatever his feelings were about Vaughn, he would still obey orders and kill him. Vaughn knew that if he let Ricardo go, it could mean _his_, Vaughn's, life. However, at the same time, Ricardo really would have done Vaughn a favor by killing him quickly, because as Sloane and Sark's guard-guy, he could've done much more to Vaughn than guard him. So Vaughn took that into account and shot him painlessly, just as it woulda been done to him. And about your last paragraph.. Dude, that's my whole plot! ;) 

**2 or 10? **


	26. Brothers in Arms

**_Chapter Twenty Five - Brothers in Arms_**

Will paced impatiently in Vaughn's living room. His three supposed coworkers had all but sprinted out the door when Kendall had informed them of Sydney's return and subsequent arrest, and utterly ignored his questions. _Is she okay? Why would the CIA arrest her? What's going on?_

Instead, they had left him to handle unofficial guard duty to the (former) Russian spy and unofficial babysitter to a five-year-old bundle of energy. 

"Mr. Tippin?" 

He turned. Elsa stood there, a hesitant look on her face. 

"Will," he corrected her. "What's up?" 

"Are you hungry?" she asked, somewhat awkwardly. "Agent Vaughn seems to favor frozen dinners. I was going to make one for Aaron, and I'd be happy to make you one, too." 

He forced a smile, knowing she was trying to help. "Please." 

Restless, he widened his pacing path to include the hallway, pausing in midstep when his eyes fell on Vaughn's bed and the papers stacked on top that the three spies had abandoned. 

"Will?" 

He didn't turn around from where he knelt at Vaughn's bed, fascinated at what Sydney's (former) handler had been concealing. Elsa came and knelt beside him, a plate full of food and a glass of wine in her hand. She smiled at his questioning glance. 

"You looked a little overwhelmed," she explained. "I was going to offer you a beer, but he doesn't have any." 

Will raised an eyebrow at _that_; it seemed impossible to picture a home with no beer at all. "Thanks," he remembered to say. 

She nodded. "What is all this?" 

"Something Vaughn was working on, I guess," Will replied. He paused, wondering if Elsa should see this. It was apparently classified stuff, after all. 

For her part, Elsa was busy opening folders and scanning the contents, one eyebrow raised in concentration. Irina was not the only Russian spy, after all, and Elsa immediately noticed something Will would miss. 

The names looked familiar to her. 

* * *

Irina stood awkwardly in front of the glass, facing her daughter, as she had done countless times before. The difference, of course, was the fact that she was on the wrong side of the window. 

Jack had left to help Weiss plan his "carpet shopping" trip, and Sydney had managed to stall Kendall, thus leaving mother and daughter alone. 

"Are you all right, Sydney?" she asked, somewhat nervously. 

Her daughter smiled at her, tears shining in her eyes. "Weiss just left," she replied quietly. "I am now." 

* * *

It was raining in Madrid. 

Eric stumbled out the door of his rental car, all but sprinting for the hotel door. While still on the plane, he had contacted the concierge to give him some explanation for the beleaguered agent making his way there, and "Michael Delorme" had called earlier while he was landing and assured him he was doing fine. 

Thankfully, the hotel staff was also expecting _him_, and after he had shown both his and Vaughn's identification, took him directly to spy's room. 

His best friend opened the door himself, studying his soaked, flight-rumpled form with a critical eye. 

"You look like hell," Vaughn greeted him. 

Hiding his automatic and almost overwhelming feelings of relief, Weiss glared at him, noting in one glance his split lip, the bandage above his eye, the bruise just visible through the hole in his shirt, and the circular cuts around his wrists. 

"And _hello_ to you," he returned. "_You_ look like shit, Michael." 

Vaughn laughed, handing Weiss a mock-injured look as he leaned against the door. 

"You going to let me in?" he asked dryly. 

"Thinking about it," Vaughn replied, before stepping back. 

"Here," Weiss said, tossing him a bag. "Clean clothes, gun, ammo, money, ID… Jack says hi. Well, not really, but he's the one that thought of it." 

"Sounds like him," Vaughn replied appreciatively. "Always prepared." 

Weiss nodded. "Indeed, _Boy Scout_. Get moving, I've got a car waiting. I'm assuming you're a dedicated Chevy person now?" 

Vaughn rolled his eyes. Weiss waited while he finished toweling off his wet hair and undressed and redressed swiftly, but not quickly enough for Weiss to miss the other bruises and cuts from various restraints and scuffles. "You sure you're okay? You really don't look that great." 

"You always know what to say," Vaughn said dryly, putting on his shoulder holster and reassured by the familiar weight. "I'm fine, really, though I never want to see another chair _again_. Is Syd…?" 

"She's fine," he answered, _not_ sinking deliberately into the armchair of Vaughn's suite. The mention of Sydney reminded him of something far less pleasant he had to tell him. "Mike, I'm glad you're all right but there's… there's something you should know." 

"I'm assuming it has to do with your interest in carpet," Vaughn smirked, perching himself on the end of the bed and looking at him questionably. 

"Very good, _Mom_," Weiss retorted. "Listen, uh… there's no easy way to say this. As soon as we get back, you're going to be arrested. I came here because I didn't want you to be blindsided." 

Vaughn laughed, certain he was playing around, but stopped abruptly when Weiss didn't join him. "You're serious." 

"Yup." 

"Is there a reason you'd like to share?" 

"I think you _know_ the reason, buddy. Feel free to fill me in." 

Vaughn stared at him, uncomprehending. "They need to fill a quota?" 

"Damn it, Michael! This isn't a joke! They think you're disloyal!" 

Vaughn gave Weiss his full attention, his astonishment evident. 

"_What?_ Why?" 

"_Why?_ Do you recall your little worldwide unauthorized jaunts and the program called Xenon?" 

"Oh." "_Oh_? Michael, I want an explanation. Right now." 

Vaughn frowned. It occurred to Eric that he probably could've sounded slightly less confrontational, but he didn't care. He had been _terrified_ for his best friend, and that was partly Mike's fault. 

"Eric, it's not what you think." 

"I don't think anything. And not a word on what I just said," Weiss ranted, realizing Vaughn would use that as an opportunity to change the subject. "Kendall _does_, though. He thought enough of your activity the past few months to cancel the search order. Had you and Syd not gotten out however you got out, you would have been _on your own_." 

He paused to take a breath. 

"I wasn't exactly stealthy on the phone, so the _only_ reason why Kendall agreed to let me come is if I made it clear you're in _my_ custody until we land in the States. So if I were you, I'd start talking. _Now_." 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Elsa trounces Jack. No, not like that. 

Review Responses

Anonymousthinker: Glad I could provide relief! What a boring essay topic. I feel your pain! 

Ilovemypenguin: I can relate, I've got three little brothers. (And a very annoying mother and a "whatever" father. lol) 

Jessica: LOL, well, it wasn't him. ;) But if I'd just escaped from circumstances like that, I doubt I'd be at my best. The only one who can do that is Sydney. ;) 

Kay10197: Thanks! 

El Teasero: "The least I can do is clear his name so you'll look for him!" 

Raina Elizabeth: You'll find out soon! ;) 

C-n-C: :blushes: You're either genuine or trying to get another chapter. I know allll your methods. ;) I told you the one that figured out what was inside was obvious! (In hindsight.) 

valley-girl2: LMAO, gotcha. I'm forbidden to have a life. ;) 

Kira: He's coming! Either that, or he and Weiss are both captured. Hmmmm… :snerks: 

Nattie700: Well gee, how could I say no to that? ;) Most of the bloopers have been seen on the ABC Bloopers show thing (grrr…), but there were two funny new MV ones. One where Greg Gunberg touches his cheek in _that_ way and MV exclaims a very religious name, and another from the The Box, Part2 (aka Jin's fav ep), where he accidentally uses the word "seminary" instead of seminars. Jen totally goes with it. "Does anyone learn anything at Seminaries?" LOL. 

MJ: Hmmm. MV is already _mine_, and you can't have one without the other! I claim both. ;) Reminds you of something? I know not of what you speak. ;) 

Jessica: How sweet! Thank you! 

UKHoneyB: LOL, I wouldn't believe that. "Right, buddy. What're you on?" 

London: Wow! Thanks very much, and will do!!! 

**2 or 10?**


	27. Balls of Steel

**_Chapter Twenty Six - Balls of Steel_**

"Mr. Tippin - Will - I need you to do something for me," Elsa said, scanning the papers intently. 

"What?" 

"Get Agent Bristow on the phone. I know what your friend was doing." 

* * *

Vaughn sighed, collapsing fully on the bed and closing his eyes. _When was the last time I laid on a bed?_ "Look, Weiss…" 

"I'm waiting." 

He sat up, spearing his best friend with a glare. "You want the truth? I love Sydney. I love her so much I set it up, more than once, that she would go free and I'd die in her place. There isn't a thing in the world I wouldn't do for her. _Nothing_." 

Eric remained silent, somehow knowing this little explosion had been building for quite some time. 

"I could picture myself _marrying_ her, do you understand? I could picture myself spending the _rest of my life_ with her. And granted, that means I'd be somewhat related to Jack Bristow, but I really do think we have a mutual respect building. Or tolerance, at the very least. But that would also mean…" 

"That you'd be 'somewhat related' to Irina Derevko," Eric finished. 

Vaughn nodded, all of his features going slack. It was as though the revelation had drained him of all his energy and he was nothing more than a shell. 

"After she turned herself in, I couldn't sleep at night," Vaughn confessed. "I knew beyond a doubt, she had an ulterior motive, and I felt like by standing by and doing nothing, I was _helping_ the monster that killed my father in whatever she was planning. I couldn't live with myself, Eric!" 

"So you investigated her," Eric realized. "_That's_ why you talked to so many KGB operatives." 

Vaughn nodded. "I couldn't wait for the agency's red tape to clear, so I contacted everyone I could, anyone who knew her, who ran in the same circles. I…I retraced sat phone records that were logged while the Bristows were in India, Kashmir…" 

His shoulders were shaking, but he forced himself to keep going. The floodgates had broken open, and he would never be able to continue again if he stopped. 

"I tracked recorded conversations between Irina and her former lieutenants to see if she signaled them when Kendall gave her access to Echelon… I… I had freelance agents retrace every step of every hour she's taken outside Operations since her surrender. I surveilled prison guards assigned to her cell block, the kitchen staff who prepares her meals..." 

Weiss pursed his lips. "Pretty thorough, Mike." 

Vaughn hardly afforded him a glance at the compliment. "I mean… I did all this on my own. I paid for this myself." He shook his head. "And I found nothing, Weiss. I'd keep going, certain I'd find _something_, but the more I looked, the cleaner she was. But I couldn't stop looking, because that would mean I gave in!" 

"I'm pretty sure Agent Bristow wants to think she's turned," Weiss cut in gently. "That she's now a good guy." 

Vaughn snorted, eyes flashing. "She's a _killer_, Eric! A _traitor_! A woman like that doesn't all of a sudden decide to be a good person!" 

"Okay, okay, take it easy," Eric soothed. "You don't need to convince _me_ she's bad news." He winced, knowing this would _really_ set his best friend off. "But, uh, you should know… when you guys were taken, Jack and Irina deduced that she had _something_ to do with your conduct. Jack convinced Kendall to let her out to, uh, help look into your activity." 

Vaughn's jaw dropped. "Irina Derevko was checking up on _my_ loyalty?" 

"Well, she didn't really get started yet," Weiss stammered. "But uh, yeah, that was her intent." 

Vaughn's eyes were huge and he sat rigid on the bed, the very _idea_ of Irina working to clear him apparently enough to render him catatonic. 

"All right," Weiss said with false cheer into the sudden silence. "Listen, we need to be on a plane in like ten minutes. I'll call Kendall and try to clear things up enough for you to go home for a bit and rest up - Lord knows you need to, after uh, everything - but you're technically still a wanted fugitive, so you can be arrested and brought in at any time. Just tell the debriefers what you told me and you'll be fine, okay? Mike? Michael?" 

He nodded distractedly. 

"Great," Weiss muttered. Swiftly, he tossed everything lying around into the bag and then grabbed Mike by the arm and pulled him up. Almost immediately, Vaughn winced. Horrified, Weiss immediately released him, having accidentally put pressure on bruises left behind by restraints. 

"After you," he said dryly after a moment, pointing to the door. "You _are_ in my custody, after all." 

Vaughn chuckled, finally snapping out of wherever he headed to, much to Eric's relief. 

"You're never gonna let this be forgotten," he groaned resignedly. "Are you?" 

"'Fraid not, Balls of Steel. Now _move_." 

"Yes, _sir_." 

* * *

Her daughter was so beautiful. 

Irina simply watched, almost breathless with awe at the woman pacing absently around in the cell. Heartbreakingly fragile at times, with big brown eyes that radiated innocence, Sydney Bristow was truly a miracle. Her miracle. 

And she had almost lost her. She sighed, deep in thought. 

She was a woman at a crossroads. Her plan had always been simple. She had ordered Sark to deliver a note to Arvin, and then she would… 

She would… 

But then Arvin had kidnapped her daughter. Irina's eyes narrowed. The _only_ reason why she had not already killed the man for that was because her daughter, aside from a few easily bandaged cuts left behind by restraints, had returned unharmed from her time in his custody. 

Physically, anyway. 

"Mom?" 

She looked up again. Sydney stood at the window once more, a frown marring her features as she sensed her mother's mood change. "Is everything all right?" 

"Fine," Irina answered automatically. She hesitated, hardly the correct person to be saying this, but… "Sydney, if you want to… if you want to talk about what you experienced…" 

"You'd listen?" 

"Of course," Irina answered, surprised at the otherwise implication. 

"Not what I meant," Sydney said quickly. They fell silent silent for a moment, the awkwardness between them clearly tangible. 

"I was so scared," Sydney whispered at last, breaking the silence. "Not for me. For Vaughn. Every word out of their mouths was a reminder that he was expendable and I was not. I was so terrified they would hurt him if I tried to escape, so I really didn't try, no matter how much I hated myself for cooperating. And then he - " 

Her voice broke, remembering the meeting they had at the Spanish warehouse. 

"He arranged his own death," Irina filled in bluntly. Agent Vaughn had somehow managed to avoid his chosen fate, and the former Russian spy thus deemed it safe to leave sugarcoating behind. 

"Not only that," Sydney murmured, voice rising with each word. "He… he told me he loved me, right before I left. I thought I would never see him again, but I didn't answer him. The man I love more than anything on this earth was willing to give his life for me, and I couldn't even say three little words to him!" 

"But he's on his way home," Irina soothed, savoring the chance to play anchor to Sydney. 

She nodded, blinking back tears that were a curious mixture of relief and shame. "I know," she said, voice lowered again. 

Irina took a deep breath. Every word she had spoke to her daughter, though Sydney didn't know it was dangerous. Especially what she was about to confess. 

"Sydney…" her voice faltered. She looked up, expectant. 

"Mom?" 

"When you see him, tell him," Irina said at last. "Because if you don't treasure the time you have with the people you love, you'll spend your life regretting it." 

* * *

"Mrs. Caplan, I appreciate your theory, but-" 

"My _theory_? Look, Agent Bristow. I know the only reason why I'm not in a cell right now is because the CIA needs to clear something up. But I am _not_ a traitor to the United States! Agent Vaughn is still missing, and that's because of _me_ and _my_ family. The least I can do is clear his name so you'll look for him! Get your head in the game and stop seeing me as someone I'm not!" 

Silence. Will stared at her openmouthed while Jack reared back, unable to recall the last time someone had stood up to him in such a manner. Except for those related to him, of course. Or those that _wanted_ to be related to him. 

"I will consider what you have to say," he replied at last. "Uh… thanks for your help, Mrs. Caplan." 

"You're welcome." 

* * *

Sydney stared at her mother, eyes wide. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask Irina Derevko questions that had burning on the edge of her tongue since their first reunion… and then the bars went up and the mood was broken. Irina swallowed hard, unreadable mask shifting into place as Jack rejoined them. 

It was better this way. 

"Elsa Caplan examined the contents of Vaughn's safe," Jack said brusquely, poker face matching Irina's. "Apparently, Irina, Vaughn was investigating _you_ the past few months." 

Sydney and Irina stared at him. Jack caught his breath. They looked so similar… 

"Kendall asked me to escort you to Vaughn's apartment to study the documents further," he continued. 

"Go," Sydney said quickly. "I don't want him to have to deal with that when he arrives. I'll just wait here." 

The tiny humorous remark was enough to break the tension, and the Bristow family exchanged smiles of renewed hope. Irina felt a pang of guilt go through her, but she suppressed it quickly. 

"Shall we?" Jack asked. 

"Of course," Irina answered. 

They left together. Sydney glowed at the sight, so thrilled that she failed to notice her mother's refusal to look her in the eyes as they parted. 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

wonder monkey: I hope you like what happens! lol 

Nattie700: I got the first one, but thanks for the new one! LOL. Hmm. Alias-Media.com has the bloopers from the ABC special, check it out! And yes, the commentary is _hilarious_. They're so mean to each other! LOL 

Kay10197: Duude, this chapter was so long! I'm kinda proud. (Well okay, almost 5 pages, but that's ridiculously huge for me! LOL) 

C-n-C: :blushes: Awww, now you're just trying to get brownie points for the future. What was that? No, I'm not bawling at your sweet review. Nuh-uh. It's allergy season! 

MvsGirl: Dun dun dun indeed. ;) Hugs and kisses back, yo! 

Jennycraig10: Well welcome back!! Where'd you go on your trip? 

Ilovemypenguin: Ooo! What was he on TV for? No, _you're_ the best!

La Teaseree: When a key turned in the lock, Will bounded instantly to his feet. 

Raina: Thanks! :) 

Anonymousthinker: LMAO, you and me both. 

valley-girl2: Psssssh. Who needs school when you've got _Alias_? ;) Priority. Check! 

UKHoneyB: Poor guy! 

AgentBlue: Hello to my absolute fav SD-1 delurker! Wazzup? 

Kira: Darn straight! Muhahahaha. ;) 

**2 or 10?**


	28. Home Sweet Home

**_Chapter Twenty Seven - Home Sweet Home_**

Weiss had never really thought of Vaughn as young before. 

His friend was only a few months behind him, after all, and guys rarely thought of age differences anyway. But right now, he couldn't _not_ notice it. 

As Weiss had requested, Vaughn had taken the window seat. That way, it was easier for Weiss to keep an eye on the rest of the passengers, and, equally importantly, to keep Vaughn better shielded from things Weiss couldn't see. In return for sticking them on a civilian flight, Kendall had reluctantly arranged for the seats in front, behind and to their immediate right to be empty, but only after Jack had pointed out that if Vaughn _was_ a traitor, placing civilians that close to him would be an unnecessary risk for the CIA to take. 

Adrenaline having removed any chance of him joining his friend in slumber, Weiss scanned his surroundings constantly. As long as he drew breath, no one was getting their hands on Michael Vaughn ever again. _Well, except for Sydney_, he thought, and then hurriedly tore his mind away from the mental imagery _that_ thought conjured. 

Vaughn had given in to his exhaustion the instant the jet had taken flight, all but curling into a ball and facing away from his partner. His even breathing suggested he was sleeping easily, but Weiss knew better. Vaughn's battered frame was tense, clearly on high alert, and his gun was just inches away from his hand. The instant he sensed something was wrong, the younger agent would awaken immediately. 

He looked so young, and so scared in his fetal position, that Weiss' heart ached. Lord knew what his friend had endured. He couldn't do anything to erase those memories, but… Weiss sat up straight. He _could_ make sure Vaughn never knew, or at least didn't find out right away, how his impromptu investigation had affected Sydney. 

He pulled out his cell phone, his features set. 

* * *

"You have my apologies, Agent Bristow," Kendall said quietly to her. "Agent Weiss called and explained everything. For what it's worth, you're free to go." 

She nodded. Anger over the injustice she had experienced could come later. "Where's Agent Vaughn?" 

"At his apartment under Agent Weiss' supervision. He still has a lot to answer for, Agent Bristow, even though we now know he was not the mole. We will be retrieving him in a couple hours, you can see him then." 

She scowled. Anticipating her argument, Kendall shook his head. "Not my decision, Agent Bristow. That's by Agent Weiss' request. He wanted Vaughn to get some rest." 

She softened. "All right," she said grudgingly. "Where are my parents?" 

"Jack is at the Dixon home, seeing to a personal matter," Kendall answered. "Irina is at Vaughn's apartment helping Elsa Caplan. What I wouldn't do to see _that_ confrontation." 

* * *

Will stared at his phone, _willing_ it to ring. It had been almost ten hours and someone had yet to call and update him, as had been promised. 

He sat at Vaughn's kitchen table with Elsa, watching Aaron play on the floor with Matchbox cars while Elsa poured over the files from Vaughn's bedroom. They had moved everything to the kitchen after Elsa had spotted the guns and Aaron kept demanding to see his mother. _Understandable_, Will thought. 

When a key turned in the lock, Will bounded instantly to his feet, relieved _someone_ had come back to update him. 

"Jack!" Will said as the door opened, his impatience making him far more brash than normal. "It's about time! Any news?" 

The door opened fully and the last man Will would have expected to see stumbled in wearily, Weiss directly behind him. Elsa, who had joined him in the entryway, froze, mouth falling open. Will's eyes widened. "Vaughn!" he blurted. _So much for keeping me updated._

For his part, the agent stared at him and the Caplans in utter bewilderment, obviously not having expected to find anyone in his apartment. Will opened his mouth to explain, but the other man held up his hands to stop him, having already endured all the surprises he could take for one day. 

Without a word to any of his three apparent guests, or Weiss, Vaughn headed directly for his bedroom, closed the door behind him, and collapsed on his dusty bed. He was asleep again within seconds, physically, mentally and emotionally spent for the time being. 

* * *

Sark paced in the safehouse. Ricardo had been due to call in and give a status report nearly five hours ago, and clearly was going to miss that call. 

_I should have shot him myself when I had the chance._

"Any word from Spain, Mr. Sark?" 

He turned. Sloane stood there, having returned from the room where they listened to the bug that had confirmed that at least one part of their plan was working. Sydney had indeed been arrested. 

"Do you honestly expect there to be, sir? I _told_ them not to underestimate Agent Vaughn, but clearly they did so or they would have reported in by now." 

His partner nodded thoughtfully. "It's of no matter. Our asset will have assured Vaughn's guilt by now, and we have nothing to suggest that he will be able to clear himself. It will be his word against the CIA's evidence." 

* * *

"I don't want to see you," Diane Dixon informed him, leaning against her door. 

"I know," Jack said shortly, shouldering his way through. "But we're going to talk anyway." 

* * *

"When-" 

"Just a few hours ago," Eric said, sinking onto Vaughn's couch. "He called me about ten minutes after we all went to visit Sydney." 

"Well, thanks for-" 

"I had other things on my mind, Will," Eric snapped. He shook his head. "Sorry. Long, long day. I managed to buy him a couple hours before they come for him. He slept the whole way here, too. I think he's done with life in general for the time being." 

"Understandable," Elsa said carefully, unsure where she stood with the agent. "After all he's been through…" 

"He had a lot of owies!" Aaron chimed in. 

Weiss chuckled, switching the subject. "Hey there, kiddo. What kinda car do you have there?" 

The five-year-old responded by grinning shyly and hiding behind his mother. 

* * *

"I haven't seen them in almost two days," Allison reported unhappily. "Tippin told me he was visiting family in Chicago, but I think they are all at the CIA agent's apartment. Francie wouldn't know Sydney's mother was alive." 

"Damn," Sark sighed. "Ms. Bristow either discovered the bug or shed it inadvertently. For now, we're blind." 

"How should I proceed?" she asked. 

A new voice entered their conversation. Sloane. "Send Irina towards us when she pays a visit." 

Allison sat up, astonished. "Irina Derevko is coming here?" 

They didn't answer, having already disconnected. Long conversations were too risky. 

"I've already arrived," a woman said quietly behind her. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: The second part of my last up next. Oh, and Aaron Caplan takes a nap. But most importantly, it's the last chapter before two certain spies reunite. 

Review Responses

So I was gonna be all sad, because I couldn't update yesterday, and I can't remember the last time that happened. But then I woke up and found almost 10 new reviews, on top of the eight there were before I went to bed. So y'all made up for it, hence the early chapter today. ;) lol 

Kelly9: Well, welcome! Glad you liked! And yes, jinxing is baaaad. ;) lol 

Winking Tiger: Your wish is my command! 

K4e: Gotta say, I'm kinda proud of the length of the last chapter. It was more than 5 pages before I cut some stuff that was too revealy. It started out at 3 pages, I think, and then I realized right as I went to post that I had left a hole in my plot, so I added the Irina/Sydney scenes, which were not originally in there. Hope they blended okay! lol 

Anonymousthinker: LMAO, poor Willage! Are you a Vartanho? I uploaded 4 HQ and 8x10 size pics of MV/MV/cast/JG in the Yahoo chat group thing from PPW yesterday. ;) 

Kittyfantastico: Wow! :gushes: You are a reviewing maestro! The reunion's coming! I'm not evil! (at the minute, anyway ;).) They lay eyes on each other in Chapter 29, which is titled 'The Debrief' because I had to use every pun possible after having a chapter titled 'Spy Drawers'. I was gonna order my DVDs online 'cause it's cheaper, but I was too impatient. LOL 

Elle Teaseray: "Michael Vaughn, you are under arrest for charges of mishandling classified information and participating in treasonous activity." 

Ivy3: I was really happy with the "Dark Turn" ep, because it finally showed Vaughn's feelings toward Irina. That dynamic between them is almost as incredible as the Jack/Vaughn dynamic. Episode _12_? Ouch. Yes, in this fic, everything after "A Free Agent" didn't happen. So no desperate ratings stunt in the form of a Ring will be found here! ;) 

Nattie700: LOL, I don't want else to say! Except hearing Vartan laying special emphasis on the "Vaughn, it's bigger than I thought" line was _hysterical_. That and his recollection of shooting the cargo plane scene, where they had to shout at the top of their lungs and look like idiots. Oh, and at the beginning of ATY, where Victor turns around in the chair, they all chorused "that's a sexy man", and VG goes "you're just saying that", and BC goes, "Yeah, we are." LMAO 

Jennycraig10: I can totally relate. :( School's been swamping me too. What a fun trip! 

MvsGirl: Awww, ditto! :hugs: 

LittleSyd: Wow! :gushes: What an honor! Should I make a speech? ;) 

C-n-C: Heyyy, allergy season is terrible right now! :P What does VBG stand for? lol. 

Ilovemypenguin: I love the Caplans. I think they were all underused on the show. Even little Aaron has a moment in the spotlight in the next chapter. lol 

Kay10197: Thanks. :) 

valley-girl2: Awwww. :blushes: Thanks for havin' faith in me! Hee. A reunion, ay? Was that a hint? 

Raina: Good. ;) I'm an evil author, and that was what I was going for. :whistles:

UKHoneyB: SD-1 people are _scary_. Right, C-n-C? ;) 

**2 or 10?**


	29. Hero Worship

**_Chapter Twenty Eight - Hero Worship_**

He looked a little bit like his daddy, Aaron Caplan decided, mainly because of the strange black thing he wasn't allowed to touch nestled against his side that his daddy sometimes wore but kept a _shhh!_secret from his mommy. He even recognized the man from the scary pipe room! He was the one that had picked him up and called him buddy while he had clung to his neck. He was a nice man. 

His mommy had seemed to like him, anyway, and that was enough reassurance for a little boy that missed his daddy. 

Hesitantly, Aaron climbed up on the bed and cuddled himself against his rescuer's chest, careful to avoid his owies and the strange black thing. He waited impatiently for the still sleeping man to automatically curl an arm around him and hug him closer and after a few minutes, he did so. 

Then and only then did Aaron Caplan take a nap too, for the first time since his mommy had said Daddy would be late from work. 

* * *

"Diane, I promise I'll be brief. You asked your husband to leave because you learned he was lying to you about his profession." 

She nodded curtly, still annoyed at his intrusion. 

"Then I want you to listen closely. You feel like you don't know your husband, but I have worked with him in the same _alternate career_ that he described to you for almost twelve years." 

Diane's jaw dropped, eyes shooting sparks. "Get out of my-" 

Jack ignored her. "Your husband is the very definition of a good man, Diane. I will freely state that if it were not for him and his talents, I would not be alive to talk to you right now. Many times over." 

That got her attention. 

"The life we lead is not safe. But your husband's willingness to risk his own life to better those of people who will never know he existed, should be commended. Speaking from my own experience, I am grateful he chose to live the life he does." 

She couldn't speak. Tears had formed in her eyes. His job accomplished, Jack rose. 

"I'll see myself out," he told her. And then he did. 

* * *

Weiss scowled to himself when Mike's doorbell rang. He had been promised two hours, but they were still ten minutes early. Even though everyone knew Vaughn's activities would be cleared up in debrief, counter-intelligence's favorite thing to do was hassle suspected traitors. 

"Should I get that?" Will asked uncertainly. Weiss nodded. 

"I'll get out of the way," Elsa said quietly. "Aaron doesn't need to see someone arrested." She paused. "Where is he?" 

The doorbell rang again, followed by a harsh knock. Weiss sighed. 

"Where'd he go off to?" Elsa's panic level was increasing. 

"It's a small apartment," Will soothed, opening the door. "He's here somewhere." 

Weiss raised an eyebrow as six counter-intelligence operatives filed in, all armed to the teeth. "Where's Agent Vaughn?" the leader demanded. 

"Resting," Weiss snapped pointedly. "You're early." 

They ignored him, striding down the hallway. Vaughn's door was the only one closed, and the team barged in immediately, followed by a protesting Weiss, Will and Elsa. 

All froze in place at the sight of the agent and the little boy cuddled against his chest, both fast asleep. Vaughn jerked awake immediately, bleary eyes noting the intrusion even as his hand shot instinctively for his side, reflexes on high alert considering his recent ventures. 

The leader saw his movements and started to go automatically for _his_ gun, before all of them remembered the innocent child still curled on top of Vaughn and forcibly relaxed themselves. 

"Um, Aaron?" Elsa called. "Wake up, honey." 

"Don't wanna," the boy murmured sleepily, gripping Vaughn tighter. The agent couldn't help but smile down at the little boy that had attached himself to him, even though Aaron was squeezing a bruise. 

"Aaron," Vaughn said gently. "I have to get up now, buddy." 

The child raised his head, his grin enough to light up the room. All the adults flinched at the contrast. "You called me that before!" he exclaimed, delighted in his memory. 

"I did," Vaughn agreed. "You can stay here if you like, but I need to go, okay?" 

The boy scowled. The leader stirred restlessly. 

"Okay," he gave in, albeit grudgingly. "My daddy used to cuddle with me. You were taking a nap, so I thought you'd wanna, too." 

Vaughn flinched. "I saw your daddy," he whispered conspiratively. Elsa's eyes widened with sudden hope. "He misses you and your mom very much." 

"Is he coming home from work soon?" Aaron's voice was full of joy at the news. 

"I hope so, buddy," Vaughn sighed. He raised his head to meet the operative's gaze. "Don't do this in front of him." 

The man nodded. "We'll be waiting in the living room, Mr. Vaughn," he answered. The team left. 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. He outranked the man, after all, and it was quite rare for a junior officer to address a senior as 'Mr.' instead of 'Agent'. _Not a good sign._

Reluctantly, Aaron climbed down, dashing over to his mother's waiting arms. But Elsa had eyes only for Vaughn. "You saw him?" she whispered. He nodded. 

"He's a good man," Vaughn told her. 

"Is he…" Elsa trailed off, unable to finish her sentence. 

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "The people holding us had ordered my guard to…" he stopped, remembering Aaron's presence. "I… managed to get away from that. Your husband is a gifted man, Mrs. Caplan. If there was any chance at all, he'd exploit it." 

She nodded. "Thank you," she whispered. 

"You're welcome," he replied, wishing he could do more. He heaved himself up slowly, ignoring Weiss' supporting hand. "Can you keep him in here for me? Until we leave? I don't want him to…" 

She nodded again, appreciative of his sensitivity. "I will, Agent Vaughn. Thank you for everything." 

He graced her with a dimpled smile. 

"Shall we?" Weiss asked him dryly. 

Still walking far more sluggishly than normal, Vaughn joined his partner in leaving his room, taking a deep breath. Will closed the door, trailing the two of them. 

The operatives stood up from they'd been leaning against furniture, one of them reaching forward to disarm him. 

"Michael Vaughn, you are under arrest for charges of mishandling classified information and participating in treasonous activity," the man said, his voice curt. 

Another man started to pull an unresisting Vaughn's arms behind his back, handcuffs at the ready. Swiftly, Weiss stepped between them. "Those aren't necessary. Agent Vaughn is still healing from restraints like that." 

Will, standing out of the way, nodded in agreement. He could clearly see the bandages around Vaughn's wrists from where previous bindings had cut into his skin. 

"What are you, his lawyer?" the man sneered. 

"Weiss..." Vaughn warned. _You're not helping me!_

"You know what?" Weiss snapped, irritated at how they were treating his friend. "By Director Kendall's order, Agent Vaughn is still in my custody. I'll bring him to Operations myself. You can form an escort." 

"I don't think-" the leader started. 

"I outrank you," Weiss interrupted, annoyed. "What you think is irrelevant. We're leaving now. You can either form an escort or explain to Kendall why you arrived _after_ we did. It's up to you, kids." 

And with that, he steered his startled friend towards the door. After a moment, the very unhappy counter-intelligence team followed. 

* * *

"You're Irina Derevko," Allison breathed, in awe. The woman before her was a legend. 

"Yes," she answered impatiently. "Where is Sloane?" 

"He told me to give you this," she stammered, grabbing a tiny piece of paper from the pocket of her jeans. "This will tell you all you need to know." 

She nodded, flashing a smile. "Thank you, Allison. Nice work." 

Allison flushed, thrills racing up and down her spine at the compliment. It was a moment that would prove deadly. 

Irina waited patiently for the younger woman to allow herself to become distracted. When it was clear she was, Irina raised Vaughn's gun. 

And fired. 

**- to be continued -**

You wanted it, you got it. Have an early chapter, and thanks for reviewing, those that did! (And to those that didn't, all 141 of you last chapter, boooo. lol) 

_Up next_: Oh, only THE REUNION. lol 

Review Responses

Mary: Yes ma'am. 

Kate: Heeey! :takes cover: 

Jane: Here ya go! Feel free to review and tell me how not-mad you are. ;)

C-n-C: He didn't let her go. He escorted her there, because he's Jack and therefore anal about work. But apparently, they never actually went in, since Will didn't see anyone until Weiss and Vaughn arrived. ;) 

Yo Teaser Yo: He was here, and he was alive, and beyond a doubt the most beautiful man she had ever seen. _Tell him. Come on, Sydney. _

Winking Tiger: When? Right now! ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: Tomorrow came early, thanks in part to your review! ;) I love Aaron, too. 

Raina: I heartily concur. 

Kay10197: Poor FakeFrancie! ;) 

Kittyfantastico: Sark has a big moment next chapter. Or two. I can't remember. UK? Ohhhh. :blushes: Didn't know that! LOL. Vaughn and Sloane do indeed meet again. ;) 

UKHoneyB: They reunite next! 

**2 or 10?**


	30. The Debrief

**_Chapter Twenty Nine - The Debrief_**

Sydney did not think of herself as an impatient woman. 

In her life, waiting was a necessary and even welcome event. _Our lives are bursts of all-out terror in between long periods of nothing_, her SD-6 trainer had said. And he had been right. 

But sitting at Vaughn's desk and waiting for him to arrive, it was all she could do not tap her feet. She understood why Weiss had requested she let him rest, but after all they'd been through… all _he'd_ been through after she had been forced to leave him… she needed to see him with her own eyes. To hold him and kiss him and verify, to her own irrational satisfaction, that he was truly home and safe and sound. 

It would be a long and physical examination. 

A clatter of steps stole her attention and it took everything she had to not release tears of joy when Weiss and Vaughn rounded the corner of the Operations center, followed by a bevy of counter-intelligence operatives. 

He saw her at the same time she saw him, his feet moving of their own accord to bring him to her. For a moment they just stood there, oblivious to the stares his entrance was starting to receive, as each ensured the other was _real_ and alive and okay. 

"Hi," he said at last, his tone somewhat sheepish. 

"Hi," she whispered, swallowing hard at his less-than-impeccable appearance. "Are you-" 

"I'm fine," he interrupted. 

Enough talking. Not caring about the growing audience, Vaughn pulled Sydney to him in an intense, searing kiss of equal passion and desperation, neither fully believing until then that they were indeed back where they should be and their recent nightmare was over. 

For his part, Weiss waited awkwardly with the rest of Vaughn's escort. The suits waiting for them wouldn't mind a few moments delay, but as the two lovebirds went on… and on… and on… and on… and on… 

"Mike," Weiss broke in. "I think you might want to consider, uh, finishing this later." 

They ignored him. 

"Michael!" 

No response. Weiss sighed, wondering if a crowbar was nearby. 

"Sydney. Agent Vaughn. I would appreciate more of an exercise in discretion in this matter." 

They pulled away from each other so fast that Weiss blinked. If his legs hadn't ached from standing and waiting for them, he would have wondered if they had _really_ just been doing what they had been doing for so long. 

Hesitantly, they all turned as one towards the new speaker. 

Jack Bristow stood there, standard blank mask in place, though Weiss would have bet his life the man was fighting to hide an amused smirk. 

"Right," Vaughn stammered, cheeks flaring like an adolescent. It didn't help that Sydney wasn't faring any better, blushing faintly and reflexively tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to hide that. 

"I, uh, have to - " he gestured halfheartedly toward the general direction of the debriefing rooms, looking her in the eyes. 

"I know," she replied, amused. "I'll be waiting. Even though you weren't doing anything wrong, you've got some explaining to do, mister." 

If anything he flushed harder, dropping his head. "Yeah." And then the light dawned. He looked back up at her. 

"You never doubted I wasn't disloyal, even when you were arrested because of me?" 

Behind them, Weiss winced. Mike must've woken up and listened to his phone call on the jet, despite his best efforts. 

"No," she answered simply. 

"Why not?" he asked hesitantly. "The evidence - " 

She shrugged, flashing him a full-dimpled smile that instantly melted both him and every other human being in the vicinity. 

"Because I believe in you," she answered simply, standing on tip toes to kiss him on the nose. Screw protocol, she had just gotten him back and had no intention of wasting _any_ time she had with him ever _again_. In fact, she could just see the bare top of an extra desk over his shoulder… 

She took a deep breath. _Focus, Sydney._ He was here, and he was alive, and beyond a doubt the most beautiful man she had ever seen. _Tell him. Come on, Sydney. Just open your mouth and -_

"Vaughn?" she blurted. 

He looked at her questioningly. 

"Vaughn, I - " 

"Mr. Vaughn, Mr. Yeager would like to - " the retrieval leader's temperament, already impatient, was at an all-time high. 

"Talk to me. Yeah, I know," he interrupted, wanting nothing more to ignore their audience further and utilize a certain empty desk top he had spotted when he came in. He flashed Sydney a look of disappoint, wondering what was going on in that pretty head of hers. _Nothing new there._ "They'll probably keep me in debrief for a while." 

And just like that, the mood shattered. She sighed and stepped forward, a shiver flying down her spine when he automatically engulfed her in a strong, reassuring hug, savoring the scent of his aftershave. She wouldn't say it here. When she let down the rest of her walls, when she made it clear that his already demonstrated unconditional love was mutual, she wanted it to be a special moment for them, not a hurriedly rushed phrase said just before he was hustled away from her. 

"You'll be okay." She hid her frustration carefully. _Soon. I'll tell him _soon_._

He smirked, knowing she was hiding something, but spirits raised regardless by the incredible woman in front of him. "If you never see me again, it was fun." 

"Shut up." 

* * *

"State your full name and rank for the record, please." 

"Michael C. Vaughn, Senior Operations Officer." 

"Mr. Vaughn, my name is Mitchell Yeager. I'm an analyst for counter-intelligence that is heading up the inquiry into you." 

He paused, eyeing the agent over his glasses. Vaughn offered him a cool nod. 

"Just to make things clear, Mr. Vaughn, this is a two-pronged inquiry regarding both your recent alleged unauthorized activity and the time you spent as a captive of two wanted terrorists. Due to the confidentiality surrounding the first said topic of discussion, should you choose to have legal counsel, the first purpose will be canceled and we will determine the consequences of your actions based solely on the evidence." 

"I understand and will fully cooperate." 

"Thank you, _Agent_ Vaughn," Kendall replied, shooting the inspector an annoyed look. "Let's get this started. Explain to us why exactly the program Xenon was on your computer." 

* * *

"He'll be okay, right?" 

"Vaughn will be fine, Sydney. It's just a formality." 

Sydney nodded. The euphoria of their reunion had faded away, leaving her sitting on Vaughn's desk with her feet dangling, utterly exhausted. 

"They wanted to debrief him about his captivity, too," Jack told his daughter, his tone both soothing and awkward. "It might be awhile. Why don't you go rest? Will and your mother and Elsa Caplan are actually at Vaughn's apartment." 

Sydney raised an eyebrow. 

"We wanted to avoid any conflict with Francie," Jack explained. 

_Oh_. "Sorry. Guess I am tired. I think I'm gonna go home. Francie's probably worried about me anyway." 

"Yes. Excellent idea. I'll… I'll keep you updated, Sydney. I've requested to sit in, so I'll make sure he calls you as soon as it's over." 

She smiled at that. "I'd hope he wouldn't need encouragement," she said wryly, turning to leave. Jack inclined his head to her and then headed for the briefing room. 

Sydney, meanwhile, strolled tiredly to the exit. She hadn't gone two steps before Weiss intercepted her. 

"Is everything all right?" 

He shook his head. 

* * *

"They wanted Agent Bristow to _extract_ Irina Derevko?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I wasn't told why, Mr. Yeager. I assumed it was because they were partners for something." 

"What gave you that assumption?" 

Vaughn gritted his teeth. "Mr. Yeager, since the answer to that question, and _most_ of your questions, could be answered _easily_ by a first-year _FBI _analyst, I'm assuming you're trying to get me to say something you're not asking. Why not just ask it?" 

"Very well," the other man answered, no reaction evident to his impatience. "Mr. Vaughn, I'm sure a man of your accomplishments, despite your current hiccup, is well aware of certain protocols. When we debriefed Agent Bristow, she told us you had planned the op that had sent her to Operations. Is that true?" 

"I've already answered that," he replied wearily. "Yes." 

"Now, I confess, being an _analyst_ I'm not that familiar with field procedures. But in the desk-land, we believe in something called _confidentiality_. That means, if an enemy of the United States came to me and said 'tell me all about the secret ins-and-outs of a CIA facility', I'd laugh in their face and refuse to do so, partly because of the oath I _swore_ when I joined. Is it different for you?" 

"I didn't have a choice, Mr. Yeager. They were threatening to execute Mr. Caplan right in front of me." Vaughn leaned forward in his chair, his smile frosty. "I had hoped that by ensuring Ms. Bristow would alert the CIA to her presence, she would be pulled out, and thus, rescued. I must say I never thought you'd _arrest_ her, especially since the charges we're discussing concern _me_, not _her_." 

A door opened, startling the three of them. Without a word, Jack Bristow entered and sank into a chair facing Vaughn, his eyes boring into him. _Nothing new there._

* * *

"This is Melanie Lund standing outside 4250 Copeland Street, where witnesses reported hearing at least two gunshots. Police have stated there is one fatality, but are not releasing the name of the victim yet…" 

Sydney stood with Weiss in front of a television in the Operations' break room, utterly numb. _Francie!_

Her phone rang. Knowing who was calling before she even looked at the display, Sydney closed her eyes, her shoulders shaking. 

"Will…" she choked into the phone's receiver. 

"Oh God, Syd." His voice sounded just as shaken as she felt. "Francie?" 

* * *

Sloane watched his younger partner in fascination. 

From his first appearance, it seemed, his younger partner had built a reputation of possessing a stunning ability to simply turn off his emotions to get the job done. Cold, unfeeling and seemingly apathetic, "Mr. Sark" had become a force to be reckoned with; a man not to be trifled with at all costs. It was a persona many in their line of work had killed to imitate, without success. 

A study of mastery in the art of self-control. 

But that self-control vanished the instant the young man learned of Allison's murder. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Sark's walls come down. 

I'm so delighted all of y'all enjoyed Vaughn and Aaron! Definitely my fav non-S/V scene. And speaking of Vaughn and kids, the epilogue of _Surmising Alliances_ gives you another taste, if you're interested. ;) 

Review Responses

C-n-C: I/J answers are coming soon. Poor Jack. Speaking of Weiss, am I the onlt one that thinks JJ is leaning towards S/W? I'm with Souris. He has 2 episodes to fix his screwup, or I get my _Alias_ fix through DVDs and fanfic. 

Ilovemypenguin: :sniffles: me, too. Probably named William. 

Erin: Thanks! :D And, yay! Thanks for your *2* reviews! LOL. Favorite delurker ever. ;) 

Snowangel4: Hello! Welcome! Hope this chapter lived up to expectations. 

Tehe, Teaser: "Our partnership is henceforth terminated."

Kay10197: Poor Allison. We hardly knew ya! 

valley-girl2: LOL, no need for an apology! And furthermore, don't be late to class because of me! I couldn't take that on my conscience! ;) My Yo Teaser-Yo was my attempt to make it a little harder to spot to the annoying lurkers. LOL. If I could only tease you _awesome_ reviewers, I would! 

Mayleen: Well of course Vaughn is cute. ;) :blushes: You made mine! 

Kittyfantastico: Man, I hope this chapter lived up to expectations. If it didn't, with _that_ review, I'm gonna feel guilty! LOL. Good luck on your DVDs! I'll keep my fingers crossed they arrive _soon_! 

Kira: :sniffles: I adore little kids, and Aaron Caplan is no exception. 

Ivy3: Weiss is such an amazing friend! And GG ain't a bad actor, either. lol 

Raina: And now they have! Dang PG-13 rating. ;) 

Nattie700: Cheers! 

MvsGirl: And yet you reviewed here, too? Now that's dedication! Thank you! 

UKHoneyB: Ditto! Hehe. 

valley-girl2: I always felt like Kendall was a misunderstood character. You'll get to get inside his head soon. ;) 

Winking Tiger: The imagery of the two of them makes me all teary. Yes, I am that big of a nerd. 

**2 or 10?**


	31. Surmising Alliances

**_Chapter Thirty: Surmising Alliances_**

The world was ablaze with color. Strands of every shade imaginable invaded senses long kept dormant via sedation drugs and it was all he could do to not whimper. 

Gradually the world toned down the visual onslaught, leaving him slightly breathless but finally able to focus on his surroundings. He lay flat on his back on a hard mattress, handcuffed wrists folded on his stomach in a parody of relaxation, a fierce pain in his lower left arm. 

And then a woman knelt beside him. For a moment, hope swelled in his chest. _Elsa?_

* * *

She couldn't breathe. Her lungs had simply collapsed in on themselves. As if moving in a dream she became dimly aware of harsh, hiccuping sobs from someone in the room. 

_Wow_, she thought, _whoever that is, I hope he or she is okay._

And then she realized that someone was shaking her by the shoulders. 

"Sydney?" a man said, over and over. No response. She couldn't help but feel an almost absent sort of sadness. Sydney, whoever she was, must have been hurt somehow. 

"Sydney! Hey, you! Go find Michael Vaughn! I know he's in debrief, but I don't care. Get him here, _now_!" 

With a gasp, Sydney forced her mind out of the fog that had been threatening to consume her. Weiss stood directly in front of her, hands still on her shoulders as he peered into her face. The second he realized she was back, he released her. 

Sydney drew a shuddering breath, fighting to focus. The last thing she remembered was talking to Will on the phone about… _oh, God._

"I told him you'd call him back," a voice interrupted hesitantly on her thoughts. She raised her head to again meet Weiss' concerned gaze. 

"I… I need to get home," she stammered. "I…" 

"There's nothing you can do," Weiss interjected. "If Sloane is targeting your friends, it would be too dangerous for you to leave. I asked Dixon if he would mind hanging with Will at Mike's apartment until we know what's going on." 

"Yes, but I should still… I mean… I…." she started to cry again, soft, little girl sobs that ripped his heart out with every gasp. 

_Damn it. Where's Michael?_

* * *

"How did you manage to escape, Mr. Vaughn?" 

"I didn't. Sloane told his wife about the warehouse I was in. She decided to scope it out and found me." 

Kendall's jaw dropped. "_Emily Sloane_ let you go?" _She faked her death. Guess it's like husband like wife, in terms of deviance._

"Yes. And it didn't seem like she was in league with her husband, sir. She _did_ request that Sloane, when caught, was spared the death penalty - " 

Kendall looked up sharply, a rebuke on his lips. 

" - but even when I told her that decision wasn't up to me and that I would not grant her request even if it was, she released me anyway." 

Yeager nodded distractedly, jotting down notes to himself. "What about Neil Caplan? You've said you were initially held with him." 

Vaughn winced. "I never saw him again after they threatened him, Mr. Yeager. The guard had orders to execute me when they called… after Mrs. Sloane told me she hadn't seen him in the warehouse, I assumed they had either killed him or taken him with them. I can't give you a definite answer on that." 

"Right," he answered. "There's one thing that isn't clear to me, Mr. Vaughn." 

"Mr. Yeager?" 

"You've said that you only agreed to help them send Agent Bristow into Operations when they threatened Mr. Caplan. However, your lack of concern for him - " 

"Hey, wait a minute!" 

" - implies you accepted Mr. Caplan's death as a definite event. If so, then why agree to help them in the first place?" 

Vaughn sat taller, directing his answer not to Yeager, but to Jack, whose intense gaze had yet to waver, even though he had yet to say a word. 

"I agreed to help them because it was the only way I could get Sydney away from them," Vaughn answered shortly. "Away from wherever they were holding her… she at least had a chance for survival. I knew that my actions could very well cause my death, and possibly Mr. Caplan's, but I deemed that a necessary risk to ensure her safety. It was a decision I would repeat in a heartbeat, Mr. Yeager." 

Jack nodded quietly, quiet gratitude in his eyes. 

"Okay, Mr. Vaughn, what about - " 

The door flew open and an intern rushed in, out of breath. 

"This is a private sess-" Kendall started to reprimand. 

The intern shook his head. "Agent Weiss sent me to look for Agent Vaughn. It's… Agent Bristow." 

"What about Sydney?" Vaughn and Jack demanded simultaneously. 

* * *

Weiss stood by helplessly, one eye on the television and one eye on Sydney, who had stopped crying but stared with unseeing, unblinking eyes, not yet fully restored from wherever her grief had sent her. 

Running footsteps caught his attention and he breathed a sigh of relief when Michael brushed past him and gently engulfed his girlfriend in a firm embrace. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes while he rubbed her back and soothed her quietly. 

Jack, Kendall and the pesky counter-intelligence guy trailed behind Vaughn, the elder Bristow visibly flinching when he saw his daughter's state. For a moment, Weiss wondered if he would take Sydney from Vaughn and comfort her himself, because he clearly wanted to, but the man instead stepped back, perhaps realizing that he was not the person she needed at the moment. 

"This is Carol Lund with a follow-up to today's breaking story. Witnesses are reporting seeing a woman with brown hair fleeing the premises shortly after the fatal shooting. She remains at large. In other info, the victim was identified as Francine L. Calfo…" 

If anything, Jack's heart plummeted further. _Irina!_

Mercifully, Kendall stepped forward and muted the television. "All right," he said quietly. "Agent Weiss, what action did you take?" 

"Not much, sir," Weiss replied. "Agent Dixon came in when you were all… busy, so I took the liberty of asking him to look after Tippin and the Caplans." 

He glanced wryly towards Vaughn. "I gave him my key." 

Still rubbing circles against Sydney's back, Vaughn nodded wordlessly, not quite clear _why_ his apartment had seemingly been opened to the public while he'd been away on his 'business trip', but not caring at the moment. 

"All right," Kendall sighed. "I think we can rule out accidents or coincidence. Let's get to work, people. Agent Weiss, escort Agent Bristow to Agent Vaughn's apartment." 

It was a tossup as to who was more startled; Jack, Vaughn, Weiss or Sydney. 

"Sir -" Vaughn started. 

Kendall rolled his eyes. "It will be another hour before you're cleared by Security Section, Agent Vaughn. Federal law says you can't leave until that happens. I 'm assuming Jack will want to look into how we seemed to have forgotten that Irina Derevko was roaming around free, and Agent Bristow, with all due respect, you've been through Hell and you look it." 

"Wait a minute," Sydney cut in. 

He ignored her. "Until we can obtain concrete intel that dictates what course of action to follow, I'd suggest you get some rest. Agent Vaughn, that goes double for you. I'd suggest visiting Medical Services, but feel free to come back up here afterwards. That's why we have couches in the break room, and I understand you'll want to stay current on information." 

"My friend was just murdered," Sydney snapped. Any hint of her grief was gone, replaced by single-minded determination. "I am not going to sit around and do nothing!" 

"I understand that," Kendall replied. "But right now, we need to figure out what _to_ do. Until then, go rest. I'm sure Mr. Tippin will want to see you." 

* * *

"You knew Irina was going to kill her." 

The former head of SD-6 flinched. The unemotional mask that was Sark's signature was gone, replaced by an icy rage that succeeded in chilling even Arvin Sloane. 

"I did." 

"And you never saw fit to inform me of this little piece of your plan." 

"_Our_ plan." 

"_Your_ plan. I never would have allowed that to occur, had I known." 

"It was _necessary_, Mr. Sark. I knew I had to have a failsafe when Sydney to returned to us. What better way to strengthen Agent Vaughn's betrayal in her eyes than killing the woman she believed to be her friend, and making him the apparent murderer? That way, we won't have to worry about any distraction on her part over him. It was Irina's idea, actually." 

Sark shook his head, even further enraged at his "partners'" deception. "This is necessary, as well," he bit out, blue eyes turning colder with every breath he drew. "Our partnership is henceforth terminated." 

Sloane frowned, genuinely surprised. "That is both unwise and rather presumptuous of you. I would advise against it." 

Sark graced him with a smile. Not a nice smile by any means, rather, it made his skin crawl. 

"I would advise against unwise threats, _Arvin_." 

And then he was gone. 

* * *

Numb, Sydney followed Weiss up the stairs to Vaughn's apartment. Had this been any other day she would have taken the steps two at a time, but right now she scarcely cared where she was. Her grief had manifested itself into a dull ache that was her new constant companion. _Francie…_

But stunned as she was, Sydney still had all her instincts, the abilities that had saved her life time and time again. 

The abilities that had failed Francie. 

So she knew he was there before he showed himself behind her, gun held loosely in his hand. Weiss whirled the same time she did, an astonished expletive flying from his mouth as he recognized their visitor. 

For his part, Sark waited patiently for them to collect themselves, revolver held at the ready for defense, not aggression, a move mirrored by a wary Sydney. Agent Vaughn's partner, however, aimed his pistol at Sark's head almost without thought. This was one of the men that had dared to hurt Mike, and Weiss was just _waiting_ for him to try something. 

"I'd like to propose something," Sark said shortly, without preamble. "You arrange it so that I may join you in taking down the man that murdered your friend and mine. No cell, no restrictions, just a simple partnership to accomplish something we both want dearly." 

Sydney and Weiss exchanged glances. 

"And in return?" she asked. 

"You get to tell your superiors you have a walk-in. Me." 

** - to be continued -**

_Up next_: Jack and Vaughn have a breakthrough. So do Sydney and Sark. No, not like that. Ew. 

Review Responses

Yahoo! Lots and lots of them! Thanks, everyone! 

Maxwell: :sniffles: I so missed you! Give me a hug! Hee. And why no, I didn't know that, but now I definitely have to try it. ;) 

Raina: Duuude. One of my fav S/V moments, man. :sniffles: And Vartan's recollection of that scene in the ATY commentary ("is that the one where you threw your beeper into the ocean like a crazy person?"), made me love it MORE. 

Lara783: Well, welcome to _Presages_! I'm honored you stopped by! And who am I to ignore your hopes like that? ;) Have a new chapter. LOL. 

Ja Teaser Ja: "I wonder if you would brainstorm with me."

Ilovemypenguin: :flashes back to Phase One: :sniffles: 

Anonymousthinker: LMAO. I heartily concur with your rant. I bawled my eyes out writing that, btw. That chapter and the next three. LOL 

Jen: Thanks! Poor Jack, having to watch his little girl like that. My dad would have spazzed. LOL 

311_fan: Thanks so much for droppin' a word! Welcome! :) 

K4e: Even more vengeful Sarkie, just for you. ;) 

valley-girl2: Who said that? ;) Poor S/V. They just attract both trouble and audiences like magnets. 

valley-girl2: I'm betting Jack enjoyed that, too. 

Kittyfantastico: Sark is not a person you wanna be near when he unravels, but then again, neither is Syd. ;) Ah, man. Hey, mailman! Hurry up! 

MvsGirl: Aww, thanks! 

**2 or 10?**


	32. Petty Prejudices

**_Chapter Thirty One - Petty Prejudices_**

It was all he could do to not twiddle his thumbs. 

Vaughn sat at his desk, completely ignoring Kendall's pointed "go-rest" looks. He _had_ allowed himself to be escorted to Medical Services, mainly because the cuts on his wrists had been agitated when he had stroked Sydney's back, and, well, blood was _hard_ to get out of suit jackets. But that had been the extent of his cooperation. 

So instead, he leaned back in his chair and watched everyone else work to gather intel for Kendall to decide just when and where Sydney would be sent pay back Sloane and Sark. At least, he hoped that was what was going to happen. If Kendall tried anything else, Vaughn had a feeling the Director might have to visit Medical Services, too. Extensively. 

For the first time in a while, he had no problem with taking a backseat to the action. Snatched pieces of conversation from agents that rushed by him had provided him with chilling pieces of information that he was currently trying to avoid. 

Francie Calfo had been shot with one of _his_ semi-automatic pistols. And Irina Derevko had worn gloves, which meant _his_ fingerprints were on the murder weapon. Which had been, thankfully, retrieved and quieted in short order by the CIA after the police determined and almost publicly announced that information. 

His head spun, the possible motives for the botched framing - if that's what it was - giving him a headache that was reminiscent of his recent concussion experience. 

The monster that killed his father had been in his home. In his _bedroom_. And all his work, all his investigations against Irina, had only been useful in that they had ensured the framing attempt would never work. 

_Where were you when the murder took place? _

Well, uh, I was in debrief for the other reason I was in trouble with the law. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. _She was clean. I found nothing._

Obviously a failure, that. 

* * *

Jack Bristow sank wearily into Agent Weiss' chair, the only free chair in the building. Theories processed through his mind at such an astonishing rate that his body's energy couldn't keep up, and he felt as though he hadn't slept in days. 

Hesitantly, he glanced over to his right. He needed to voice his ideas to _someone_, and Michael Vaughn's willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice for his daughter had struck a chord within him. 

"Agent Vaughn?" 

The younger man straightened, looking at him questionably. 

"I wonder," Jack hesitated. "I wonder if you would brainstorm with me." 

Vaughn nodded, a thrill racing through him at the unspoken but still obvious meaning behind his question. Jack Bristow rarely approved of anyone or anything. But with that simple question, it seemed as though he and Sydney's father had gone from grudging tolerance of one another to the beginnings of genuine respect. 

"Of course, Jack." 

* * *

Weiss laughed out loud, unable to stop himself. 

"Listen here, you little British cocky son of a _bitch_," he snapped, gun aimed directly between Sark's eyes. "The day I work with you for _any_ reason is the day you're in chains. In _hell_." 

Sark afforded him an amused smirk. "Come now, Agent Weiss. What I am offering is to the betterment of your national security. Surely with your CIA loyalties you would put that before any petty prejudices." 

Weiss' blood boiled. "_Petty prejudices_?" 

Sydney touched his arm. "You said 'your friend and mine'," she said quickly, before Weiss could explode again. "I wasn't aware you knew - " she almost choked on past tense - "Francie." 

"I didn't," Sark answered promptly. He looked her in the eyes. "The woman that was killed today, Agent Bristow, was _not_ Francine Calfo." 

* * *

"Jack, I can't figure this out. I can't decide if Irina killed her out of spite or vengeance or…" Vaughn shook his head. 

They had retreated to the same room where Vaughn had been debriefing. Jack sat in a chair while Vaughn, grateful to not be required to do so, leaned against the table. 

He'd sat in a chair long enough to last several lifetimes. 

"Could it be punishment?" 

"What?" 

Jack straightened. "A punishment for Sydney, perhaps. For her not extracting Irina." 

"Oh," Vaughn frowned, deep in thought. "Maybe, but that doesn't explain why they used _my_ gun. They might not have known I was still alive when they ordered the hit. Why bother framing me if they thought they had already killed me?" 

"I'm not sure they meant to frame you," Jack replied. "If they knew you were alive, they would not have had Ms. Calfo killed until they could confirm your whereabouts. Irina Derevko would not make such a drastic mistake." 

"Okay," Vaughn considered. "So. New idea. It wasn't an attempt to frame me, but rather it was done so we would _know_ she was the one that did it. But that would suggest she would want to lead us to Sloane…. Which means she's on her side. No, that's not it." 

"The only side that woman is on, Agent Vaughn, is her own." 

"You don't have to convince _me_ of that." 

* * *

"What are you talking about?" Sydney's blood ran cold. 

"Your Ms. Calfo died a month ago," Sark answered coolly. "She was replaced by a genetic double named Allison Doren." 

"That's - " 

He ignored her interruption. "You'll want to verify what I just said. I must be going, but I have proof that I will provide for you." 

"You think you're _leaving_?" Weiss' tone was incredulous. 

Sark responded by reaching into his trench coat pocket and pulling out a disk. 

"Here," he said shortly, tossing it to Sydney. "Allison's DNA sequence. I'm certain you know what to do with that. Test that with blood taken from - " he cleared his throat. " - from the body." 

She stared at it wordlessly. _He has to be lying. I would've known!_

"Once you confirm that information, dial the voice message number available in the plain text file on that disk and leave your cell phone number. I will assume you have agreed to my proposal." 

"How do I know this isn't an elaborate hoax?" Sydney snapped. "Something you, Derevko and Sloane schemed up to get control of Operations?" 

"Allison and I were very dear to one another," he answered evenly. "Proof of that is _also_ on the disk. Sloane went behind my back when he ordered her death. I terminated our partnership as a result. The only way he can wreak comeuppance for her murder, Agent Bristow, is for me to work with you." 

He backed up a step. "I look forward to working with you again, Agent Bristow." 

"Don't move," Weiss barked sharply. 

Sark favored him with another look of amusement before turning and seemingly melting into the shadows, vanishing right in front of them. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: The end of the first part of _Presages_. Think of it as Jinnie's season finale. Which, due to length, will be posted this Saturday, or Monday if my review quota isn't met. Is it worth waiting that long for? At ten pages and counting, I hope so! 

Review Responses

Teehee. I admit, I had some fun titling the last chapter. Actually, I was just being mean. So many people have asked if _Presages_ is a prequel to _Surmising Alliances_ (it's not, _Presages_ is an AU story while _SA_ was strictly canon-based), so I couldn't resist poking fun. 

C-n-C: I'm so sorry! It was unintentional, really! (Really!) Stop pouting! :P 

Kat10197: I can't wait to post it! lol 

Kittyfantastico: Life's not fair. Vaughn is MINE!! Muhahahahahahaha! STILL no DVDs? Grrrr. 

Gatorgrl: Awwwww! :gushes: Thank you! Totally makes my day! 

Teaser: "Mike, if you go through with this I'll kill you myself. We will not be friends, do you understand?" 

Ivy3: He needed to get her attention, I think. And thanks! 

Ivy: Man, I wish I had your optimism about the RONG. Congrats on your license! If I ever make it over there I want you to call me when you're out driving, okay? That way, I know to stay off the roads. ;) 

Anna16: Thanks for your sweet words! 

Raina: hehe, sorry! Now I can say, 'no, _Presages_ is its own _Surmising_!' 

MvsGirl: :gushes: Thanks for the vote of confidence! 

UKHoneyB: Poor Neil. :sniffles: 

valley-girl2: Thanks! Don't worry, I'm all confused, too. I have an outline of the story and it's hard to read because arrows are drawn everywhere and all the lines are color-coded by highlight markers. lol 

Erin: I'm so sorry for skipping you! Bad Jinnie! Bad! 

**See you… Saturday? (or Monday?) Up to you!**


	33. Endgame

**_Chapter Thirty Two - Endgame_**

Neil squinted, trying to force his vision into clarity. That voice… the woman speaking to him had a soft lilt, much like Elsa, and the gentleness in her tone was also reminiscent of his wife… 

And then his eyes swam into focus and he found himself looking at a middle-aged but still beautiful brunette, the gentle look in her eyes counteracted by the hard lines in her face. _This is not someone to toy with._

"My name is Irina Derevko," the woman told him. Perhaps reading his mind, she flashed him an indecipherable smile. "I require your help, Mr. Caplan." 

* * *

"We're missing something," Vaughn sighed, reluctantly sinking into a chair. It was either that or pace around, and instinct told him Jack wouldn't be thrilled if he toured the room. 

Jack nodded, hands folded neatly in front of him. "I agree." 

"The CIA thought I was the mole," Vaughn thought aloud. "I'm assuming that investigation stopped after they fingered me." 

"Yes," Jack replied, mind trying to follow the younger man's logic. 

"And they thought Sydney could be working with me," Vaughn continued. 

"Yes." 

"So when all of you figured out it I was innocent, what happened to that investigation? Sloane had access to all sorts of information, including my personal specs. Who's the traitor that gave him that? Who's the mole?" 

* * *

Will stood up sluggishly when the door opened. It had hardly closed before he enveloped his last remaining best friend in his arms, united in their grief. Both of them cried, not caring or perhaps not noticing that they had an audience. Awkwardly, Weiss edged around Sydney and Will, stepping over to join Dixon and the Caplans in Vaughn's kitchen. The very least they could do is grant them privacy. 

"She'll be all right," Dixon said aloud as Weiss sank into a chair at Vaughn's tiny kitchen table where the other two adults were already perched, hot cups of tea in front of them. "She's strong. She'll get through all of this." 

Elsa nodded quietly, heart aching for the beautiful young woman whom had saved both her and her son, and who had, along with her boyfriend, experienced hell on earth while trying to save her husband. She couldn't help but feel a little guilty, even though she knew it was unwarranted. 

"Oh," she stammered, trying to hide the sudden contagious tears in her eyes. "Can I get you something, Agent Weiss?" 

He forced a smile. "Sometimes Mike is too European for his own good. What I really want is a beer." 

Dixon nodded. 

And then Weiss started, surprised, as Aaron stepped forward from where he'd been rolling his cars around on the floor and tugged on Eric's sleeve to get his attention. "Excuse me," the little boy said politely. 

"What's up?" he asked. 

Aaron stared up at him, tiny brow wrinkled in concentration."Where's Mike?" he asked. 

"_Mr. Vaughn_," Elsa corrected absently. 

Aaron frowned at his mother. "But _he_ called him Mike!" he protested, pointing at Eric. 

"Mr. Weiss is a grownup, just like Mr. Vaughn," Elsa replied. "And don't point. That's not polite either." 

Weiss suppressed a smile. _All moms are alike._

"Mr. Vaughn is in meetings," he assured the child, trying to resist the urge to peek into the living room . "He's coming home soon." 

* * *

"They'll pay," Sydney whispered, voice hoarse from sobs. "I'll make them pay for what they've done. Francie was innocent, she… she…" 

"I know," Will murmured. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I can't believe this. I know we lost her today, but I… I'm still waiting for my cell to ring, with her on the other end gushing about a new recipe. This doesn't make any sense!" 

He rose from the couch the two had collapsed upon when their grief robbed them of strength to stand, pacing around the room. 

And then he stopped. Sydney still sat, fingering a red floppy disk she had pulled out of her coat. 

"What if I told you," she said, still whispering, "that there's a chance we lost her three months ago?" 

* * *

Standing slightly away from the busy hustle of the room, Kendall passed an exhausted hand over his eyes and wondered for the countless time why he had taken this assignment. He was a patriot who believed in order, a man who had devoted his life to the betterment of the greater good. His life was one of structure and organization, of knowing the boundaries and showing respect by never crossing them. 

At least he _had_ been like that. And then he had come here and met the three people that specialized in throwing his entire operating system askew: Agent Jack Bristow, a brilliant man that would nevertheless give United States national security to the highest bidder if it meant saving his long-estranged daughter, Agent Sydney Bristow, an extraordinarily talented young woman with abilities that were directly countered by behaviors inherited from said father, and of course, Operations Officer Michael Vaughn. 

Kendall sighed. Once upon a time, when he had first accepted this assignment and been briefed about his staff, he had harbored the assumption that the young agent would be a tremendous ally against two double-agent mavericks. Everyone whom he had talked to had described Agent Vaughn as one of the CIA's brightest rising stars, with a reputation that rivaled his father's legacy. 

But as far as Kendall was concerned, Sydney Bristow's former handler was nothing more than a younger and only slightly less difficult Jack. His only saving grace was his inability to fully hide his emotions, something that would surely fade with time. 

"Director Kendall!" 

He snapped his head up. "What is it?" 

"Mr. Yeager would like to know when Elsa Caplan will be debriefed," Rick said. 

Kendall scowled, rubbing his jaw. In all the hubbub, he had actually forgotten about the _other_ Russian spy. 

"Bring her in," he ordered. 

* * *

Sydney sat rigid in a chair, Will and Dixon flanking her while Elsa went for a much-earned walk and Weiss distracted Aaron. Vaughn's laptop sat in front of them, and Sark's disk burned in her hand. She closed her eyes as the computer began to slowly power up, not bothering to fight the returning numbness that was gradually reasserting control. Horror, rage and guilt warred equally within her. 

_Francie_. Her sweet best friend and the one part of her life whom was wholly normal. The last piece of her innocence, the last hope she had held for life outside government service. In the blink of an eye, the one person she had fought hardest to keep ignorant and thus safe, was gone. 

No. Not in the blink of an eye. Francie had died months earlier. Murdered and replaced by a woman who had stolen her face; heartlessly killed to get to her. 

And she, Sydney Bristow, veteran spy extraordinare, _hadn't even noticed._

In hindsight, it seemed obvious. Of course. Not that hindsight made a difference. 

_Francie would have known. If things had been different, she would have been the first to notice._

Sydney caught her breath. There it was, the one fact that chilled her almost as much as Francie's death. 

_She would have known. Why didn't I?_

The computer beeped readiness, startling her out of her thoughts. Reaching over, Dixon took the disk from her, pausing for a moment to rest his hand on top of hers soothingly. She forced a smile, touched. He always seemed to know what she needed. 

"Here goes nothing," Will muttered as Dixon slid the disk in. 

* * *

"We're still determining that," Jack answered shortly. 

"So you don't know." 

"No." 

Vaughn nodded to himself, eyes glazing slightly as a new plan began to take hold. 

"Jack," he said suddenly. 

The other man waited expectantly. 

Vaughn leaned forward. "I have an idea." 

Still, Jack waited. "Until you tell me what you're suggesting, I have nothing to respond to," he prodded. 

"There's no way to determine Derevko's motives. But I can tell you one thing - she wasn't working with Sloane." 

"How's that?" 

Vaughn shrugged. "Sloane likes to brag," he answered. "He brought up his successes against the CIA quite a bit. If Sloane had been working with Derevko, he would've said something." 

Jack nodded thoughtfully. "You still haven't told me what you're planning." 

"Since Sloane and Derevko likely were not working together, he wouldn't know about the attempted frame." 

"If that's what it was. Personally I don't think so." 

"Yes," Vaughn dismissed. "But anyway, he wouldn't know I was innocent. What if we let him think that?" 

Jack's eyebrows shot up. "What exactly are you proposing?" 

"I'm proposing that I return to Sloane, claiming that I want to clear my name and that he is the only person whose resources I could use to do so. Doing so would enable us to learn the whereabouts of Sark and Caplan, at the very least. It would also allow us to finally get both Sloane and Sark in custody, and maybe even help us find Derevko using Sloane's contacts." 

"And why on Earth would you be so desperate that you would go to him in this scenario?" 

Vaughn smiled at him. "Sydney. As far as Sloane is concerned, I killed her best friend. Obviously, I wouldn't want her to believe that." 

* * *

It was just too much. 

Sydney stared at the laptop screen, eyes huge. She had never even dared to think that this side of Sark was possible. 

Will, too, studied the pictures. Sark and Allison beamed, laughing and kissing each other and appearing every inch a couple in love. "That's just _weird_," the former reporter mumbled. The younger man in the pictures looked unlikely to _shoplift_, not to mention ordering the torture of a prisoner. 

"I agree," Dixon said dryly. "Of course, these are probably doctored." He clicked another window. A plain-text file opened, bearing a series of numbers. One was clearly a phone number, and the other… 

"DNA strand," Sydney murmured, grabbing a pen and paper from Vaughn's desk. "He said there would be." 

"Sydney," Dixon warned her. "You know as well as I do that this is just a ploy." 

She didn't answer. Will frowned. "Syd?" 

"I've been thinking about this," she said at last. "I don't think it is." 

* * *

Jack shook his head. "Noble sentiments, Agent Vaughn, but you're missing quite a few details." 

Vaughn frowned at him. "Like what?" 

Jack sighed. The younger agent was slowly earning his respect, true, but he still had yards to go. "Agent Vaughn, if you go to Sloane - provided we can locate him in the first place - and spin that story to him, it will only result in your immediate execution." 

"Not necessarily - " 

"Arvin Sloane is not a foolish man, and he will know that if you came to him aware of the murder it would mean you were in the area when it occurred, since coverage regarding Ms. Calfo stayed local. It would thus stand to reason that you would have been immediately apprehended by the Agency." 

"But - " 

"You're thinking of influencing Sloane by emotion. It can be done, Sydney used that technique often as a double. But for you to be successful, Agent Vaughn, you need to have irreproachable logic behind you. To do so without it would mean your burial." 

Vaughn ran a hand through his hair. "You're right," he acquiesced. "You're right. So how _would_ we make my idea work?" 

Jack pursed his lips, deep in thought. "We'd need someone to vouch that you have indeed turned, or at the very least, that you would be willing to work with Sloane in exchange for your vindication. Someone he trusts." 

Vaughn snorted. "Is that all?" _Which means the chances are roughly the same as Sloane turning himself in._

* * *

"Syd, listen to yourself." 

Sydney glared at her long-time partner. "Dixon, don't you _dare_ give me the I-know-you've-had-a-bad-day line. I've thought about this. I really think Sark is genuine." 

"Then apparently you haven't thought about it," Dixon countered, his tone that of fatherly tenderness. 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was watching him in the hallway," she said. "He held eye contact with me very evenly, even when Weiss was aiming a gun at his head." 

"So you're basing your entire trust on a terrorist with eye contact?" Will intervened. "Have you forgotten what he did to _all_ of us? He had me tortured! He kidnapped you and Vaughn!" 

"And he's killed countless innocent civilians," Dixon added. "A man like that has no conscience, Syd. Why set yourself up to fall?" 

"I think he does," Sydney replied. "It's…" she paused, trying to make them understand. "When I lost Danny, everyone knew. I mean, on campus. I'm trained to control my emotions, Dixon, you know that better than anyone. But when he died, I lost that ability. It took me forever to get it back." 

She took a deep breath. "When we were in that hallway and I looked at him, I could see it. He's hurting just like anyone else would be if… just like I was when I lost Danny. Just like I would be if…" she broke off. _If anything happened to Vaughn._

Dixon remained unconvinced. "You're not this naïve, Sydney." 

"It's not just that," she responded. "Think, guys. What on earth would Sark stand to gain by essentially turning himself in? For him to even approach me with the possibility, even if it was a ploy, would still be an admissible confession in the court of law." 

"Not that he needs one," Will muttered. 

"Sark isn't the martyr kind," Sydney shot back. "For him to actually do something not for himself would require something huge. Something like his girlfriend's murder." 

* * *

Neil shook his head, trying to force his best asset - his mind - to wake up fully. He looked down, taking stock of his surroundings. He lay on a cot in the middle of a dingy, musty-smelling room and aside from the woman, he was alone. 

The last things he remembered were coming back to him, and he flinched as the memories exploded into full color inside his head. _Michael abandoned protocol to save me… and a woman came in… a woman who looked just like -_

"Mr. Caplan?" 

"Where am I?" he demanded. "Where's Michael? What's going on?" He tried to sit up, bracing his handcuffed hands against a metal side of the bed and pulling himself upright, only to stop abruptly when the pain in his lower left arm ignited. Puzzled, he looked down, sucking in his breath at the foreign sight of a blood-stained bandage wrapped around that area. _Was I shot?_

"Agent Vaughn managed to escape," the woman - Irina - answered briefly. 

Neil closed his eyes briefly, relieved. That young man had saved his family, and he would never have been able to forgive himself if Michael died. 

"What do you want from me?" he asked, resigned. 

She graced him with a smile. "I have an offer for you, Mr. Caplan." 

* * *

A knock on the door interrupted the argument. 

"Got it!" Weiss called to them. 

Still gazing imploringly at Will and Dixon, Sydney didn't even react. 

* * *

Weiss scowled at the man standing in front of Vaughn's apartment, the very man who had treated his good friend like a common criminal a few hours prior. "What are you doing here?" 

"Can I come in?" The man snapped, irritated. 

In response, Weiss leaned all his weight against the door, fully blocking the entrance. 

"Agent Weiss," the counter-intelligence retrieval unit leader said wearily. "I'm just doing my job." 

"Uh-huh." Weiss didn't budge. 

He gave up. "I have been ordered to bring Elsa Caplan in for a full debrief." 

Weiss nodded. "And were you going to ask her nicely, or were you going to try to drag another innocent person out of here in handcuffs?" 

"Agent Vaughn is hardly inn - " 

"What's going on here?" 

The two men turned. Sydney stood there, eyebrows raised dangerously at the sound of Vaughn's name. 

* * *

"What kind of offer?" Neil asked skeptically. 

Irina stepped back from him, sinking gracefully onto a stool by the cot. "Do you remember the device you put together for your previous captors?" 

_Previous?_ Neil mentally logged that tiny fact away for future use. "Yes," he answered slowly. "But the pieces were one of a kind, and I don't have a photographic memory anyway. If you wanted a duplicate." 

Irina chuckled, tucking stray strand of hair behind her hair. "I don't want a duplicate," she assured him. 

"Then what do you want from me?" 

She leaned forward, looking him straight in the eye. "I need a way to counteract it." 

* * *

At Sydney's unspoken request, Weiss stepped back reluctantly and allowed the man entry into Vaughn's home. He couldn't help but wonder what the neighbors thought of the steady procession of guests that kept dropping by. 

"Where is she?" the man demanded, scanning the tiny apartment. 

"Me?" a soft voice asked, from behind them. Elsa stood in the open doorway, looking refreshed from her walk. 

"You're going to have to come with me," the man told her briskly. 

She eyed him as though he was nothing there than a bug under a microscope. "Am I under arrest?" 

"No," the man answered. "You've been classified as a walk-in. We just need to debrief you." 

Elsa nodded, relieved. It felt good to know she was trusted again. "What about my son?" 

Weiss, Will, Sydney and Dixon exchanged glances. "Um, I can watch him," Will offered at last. Surely Vaughn's other "house guests" had more important things to do. 

Elsa nodded again. "Thanks for everything, Mr. Tippin." And with that, she turned and headed down to the hall. The beleaguered retrieval agent stood frozen for a moment, flabbergasted at the woman's impetuousness, before turning and hurrying after her. 

* * *

Sydney took a deep breath. What she was about to do went against all logic, everything she had been carefully trained for years to think through in every scenario. The only things that agreed with her were her instincts. 

And she trusted those more than logic. 

So while everyone else was distracted by Elsa Caplan, Sydney picked up her cell phone and dialed a certain voice mail number. 

* * *

"Elsa Caplan will be coming in shortly," Kendall informed Rick. "Make sure a conference room is ready. This woman cleared Agent Vaughn on her own initiative, she has earned our respect." 

Rick nodded, opening his mouth to acknowledge his order. And then his eyes widened behind his glasses, jaw dropping further. 

"What?" Kendall asked the tech curiously. He spun around to look at what Rick was staring at. 

"Agent Kendall," Sark greeted. Immaculate in a suit, he let his eyes traipse the room with deliberate carelessness before returning to rest fully on the Director. "I must confess, it's much smaller than I thought it would be." 

Kendall forced himself to focus. _I didn't even hear him come in._ "We're having all sorts of interesting walk-ins lately," he all but sneered. Turning away, he gestured for agents to take custody of the terrorist whom had inexplicably sauntered through the door. 

"I wouldn't do this," Sark interceded, amused. He raised his hands in a show of mock submission. 

"Oh?" 

"I was invited," he smirked. "As an _ally_." 

Kendall snorted. "By whom?" 

"Agent Sydney Bristow." 

* * *

"I need a break," Vaughn muttered. 

"Understandable," Jack said, rising. 

Vaughn afforded him a nod, pulling himself up and opening the door of the room. 

And then he halted suddenly, without warning. Jack, who had been following him, almost walked right into the younger man's back. 

"Agent Vaughn," Sark called across the room from where he stood with Kendall. "What a pleasant surprise to see you again." 

Gaze growing darker with every step, Vaughn strolled deliberately towards his former captor. Even Kendall flinched at the unguarded rage in the agent's eyes. 

"What are you doing here?" Vaughn asked icily. 

Sark raised an eyebrow. "Have you not spoken with Sydney recently?" And then he flashed him a smirk. "Ah. Not allowed phone privileges? Mr. Sloane spoke of the questions regarding your loyalty. They were a great help to us." 

That did it. With a quick glance at his two superiors, Vaughn grabbed Sark by his coat lapels and slammed him up against the nearest pole. 

"Agent Vaughn," Jack said, amused in spite of himself. 

"What are you _doing_ here?" Vaughn repeated to Sark, voice growing _colder_, if at all possible. 

"I'd suggest you call Sydney," Sark answered, unruffled. "If I were to tell you, I doubt you'd believe me." 

"Agent Vaughn," Kendall prodded. 

With one last slam, Vaughn released him. Still glaring furiously, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. 

* * *

  
**_Two hours later_**

* * *

"I'm not without a sense of irony, Agent Vaughn." Kendall's voice was full of studious glee. 

"What do you mean?" Vaughn asked warily. They sat in the debriefing room, waiting for Sydney to join them. Sark perched himself on a chair at the very end of the room, Jack keeping a steady gaze on him from his chair by the door. 

"You are by far the most qualified handler in this taskforce. Per my directive, Sark will answer directly to you." 

Vaughn's jaw dropped, incredulous. Sark's eyes narrowed. 

"I'm here," Sydney's voice cut in, before either man could object. "Sorry. Aaron was getting a little upset that everyone seemed to be leaving." 

"How's he doing now?" Vaughn asked, forgetting his astonishment at the thought of the innocent little boy mixed up in all this. 

Sydney chuckled. "He's fine. Weiss pulled out your hockey stuff. I think they broke a lamp, but it was with good intentions, I swear." 

"I'll send Rick to tell Elsa that her son is okay," Kendall interrupted. "Now, if you two don't mind…" 

"Right," Sydney mumbled, turning her attention to the director, her father, and the terrorist that sat around the conference table. 

"Sorry, sir," Vaughn apologized. 

Sark shrugged. "I found your discussion quite enlightening," he put in. They ignored him. 

"All right, Mr. Sark, here's the deal," Kendall began. "Compliance will earn you an immunity agreement. From here on out, you will answer any questions we have to the best of your ability and knowledge. You will also accept and perform any orders from any qualified operative, including and especially from your handler, Agent Vaughn." 

Sydney jerked in surprise, turning to look at her boyfriend, who was currently spearing Sark with a look of such hatred that if looks could kill, Sark would have been dead and buried. 

"There are of course other pieces to this deal that will be detailed after this session. But know this. Should you betray us or disobey any orders given, I will personally escort you to Camp Harris myself, and you never again see light of day. Am I understood?" 

Sark, if anything, looked quite entertained by all the threats. "Of course, Agent Kendall. Shall I begin by getting you all tea?" 

* * *

"Mrs. Caplan?" 

Nervous and somewhat bewildered, Elsa looked wildly around the room Will had referred to as Operations. 

"Mrs. Caplan?" the younger man repeated. 

"Sorry," she said, focusing her attention. 

"It's okay," he replied. "My name's Rick. Director Kendall and Senior Agent Bristow are both tied up in something, so we had to get someone else to debrief you. If that's okay?" 

"Sure," she replied. _What else is there to say?_

"Okay," Rick repeated. "Listen, we've got a conference room set up for you and Brandon. Can I get you something to drink?" 

Elsa followed the energetic young man automatically. "Brandon?" 

"Yeah," Rick said, pushing his glasses back up. "It's kinda unexpected, I admit. Never had the NSA step up and ask to be included in a minor debrief before. Especially the _Director_ of the NSA." 

He began leading the way again. Swallowing hard, Elsa joined him. 

* * *

"Obviously, your defection, if true, gives us a bit of an advantage," Kendall began. "Most notably your knowledge of Sloane's operations." 

Sark waited. "I can't answer questions if you don't ask any," he said dryly. 

"Sloane referred to an asset within the Agency," Vaughn said, his voice hard enough to cut through steel. "Who is it?" 

"That I don't know," Sark answered, folding his hands in front of him. 

"Of course," Vaughn replied. "Where's Derevko?" 

Sark shrugged. Kendall glared at him. "Not a good start, Mr. Sark." 

Sark glared right back, blue eyes turning into chips of ice. "That is _enough_, Director Kendall. I am _not_ your subordinate and I will not be treated as such." 

He allowed his gaze to roam around the room, noting with some satisfaction that all of the occupants, including Sydney, looked away. Only Jack could return it. 

"Here is _my_ 'deal'," he said shortly, pronouncing the American word with some difficulty. "I approached Sydney for a partnership that would give the CIA Arvin Sloane. Any loyalty I harbored towards him died with Allison. I will willingly and readily give you all the information I possess required to complete that task. But I am _not_ turning myself in. Once we accomplish our objective, our working relationship will formally conclude." 

Kendall snorted. "What makes you think I will allow that to happen? I have no qualms at all with taking you into custody after this meeting." 

"Well, I could argue the ethical terms," Sark said. "But we'll stick with the realistics. You _need_ me. Without me, you have no way at all of knowing what Mr. Sloane is planning. If I sense at all any lapses in your definition of cooperation in this partnership, I will have no qualms with withholding information that could could prove to be vitally important for your survival. I harbor no loyalties to your precious Agency, and will not bother to pretend otherwise. I am only here to ensure that Mr. Sloane pays for what he's done. I would think, Agents Bristow and Vaughn, that you would understand that." 

"We could get any withheld information from interrogation at Camp Harris," Kendall returned. 

"While that may be true," Sark replied, "doing so would be quite catastrophic for you Americans, I assure you." 

"So now we're to the baseless threats," Sydney interjected. 

Sark chuckled, recognizing the phrase. "Never, Agent Bristow." His gaze ticked to Vaughn. "Have you been debriefed yet?" 

Vaughn eyed him stonily, not answering. 

"Because if you have," Sark continued. "You would have mentioned the device Mr. Caplan was working so dutifully on. Did he tell you what it was he was doing?" 

Vaughn sighed, forcing aside his emotions. _Pull it together, Mike. You've got a job to do._ "He said he was trying to figure out how to construct a Rambaldi device, and that it required very specific calculations." 

"He was correct," Sark informed them. "What he was doing was building a high-energy pulse weapon which works like a microwave. It excites water and fat molecules which don't exist in inorganic materials and then it converts them into atomic motion or heat." 

Sydney blinked, horrified. 

"The machine can be targeted at certain radiuses. Everyone who falls within those areas literally melts from the inside out." 

"So in exchange for us cooperating in this… partnership… you will tell us how to prevent such a weapon from being effective?" 

Sark shook his head. "You don't understand, Director Kendall. This kind of energy will also knock out computer circuitry. Which means if it's pointed at the sky, it could take down planes. There's no defense against this kind of energy. It goes through walls, concrete, steel, everything." 

"You haven't made an offer yet," Jack prodded impatiently. 

"My apologies for the length of my explanation," Sark answered smoothly. He glanced at each of them. "In exchange for you honoring our agreement, I will arrange for that weapon to fall into your hands. I trust that is incentive enough for you?" 

"What's to stop you from using that weapon for yourself instead?" Sydney demanded. 

He looked straight at her. "I neither require nor desire such a device. I daresay I do fine on my own." 

Sydney shuddered at that. _Just when I think there's a shred of humanity in him…_

"We're wasting time," Jack interrupted impatiently. "Sark, where is Neil Caplan?" 

"We brought him back with us on the jet when we brought Agent Bristow to Los Angeles," Sark answered. 

Vaughn sat up straight, stare piercing. "He's here?" 

"He was," Sark replied. "Once Agent Bristow retrieved her mother, Mr. Sloane expected to present Mr. Caplan to her as a gift. A man with his intellect was a tool we both assumed she would appreciate having." 

"So where is he now?" Vaughn demanded. 

"We installed him in a safehouse outside of Malibu - but before you send operatives, don't waste American tax dollars. Before she was killed, Allison gave Irina his location. She has since retrieved him and moved him elsewhere." 

"So you were working with my mother when you captured Vaughn and I?" 

"No," Sark answered. "She had nothing to do with this." He glanced toward Sydney. "I meant what I said to you, Ms. Bristow. I would have dearly liked to work openly with her again, had your assigned Op been successful." 

"We need answers," Kendall scowled. "And Mr. Sark, it appears we overestimated your usefulness. It seems as though Sloane is the only one that can answer things correctly." 

"My departure from our partnership was hardly one that would encourage Mr. Sloane to welcome me back to get those answers," Sark explained dryly. 

"Well you're just going have to get back in that 'partnership'," Kendall shot back. 

Sark shrugged, leaning back lazily in the chair. "I do have an idea, though I doubt you would agree with its necessity." 

"How's about you give us the chance to disagree then?" Sydney's voice was ice personified. 

Sark inclined his head to her in a mocking salute. "Of course, Agent Bristow." His gaze changed. "Agent Vaughn." 

He waited. Confused, Sydney and Vaughn exchanged glances. 

"Continue," Jack prodded. 

Sark shrugged again. "If I return to Sloane, I need to do so with proof that I am still an ally to him. I need a peace offering." 

"Me." Vaughn's tone was flat. 

"Indeed," Sark nodded. "Sydney would be the ideal choice, but you would be more logical in this case." 

"Absolutely not!" Sydney snapped, outraged. 

Sark ignored her. "We knew the guards had underestimated you when they failed to report in," he informed Vaughn mildly. "Because they knew confessing to such failure would have been nothing short of suicidal, they were doubtlessly opting to wait until you had been relocated. They could then acknowledge your temporary escape, but save their own lives by concluding they had recaptured you. Because of that, I highly doubt Mr. Sloane knows you have even left Spain. We could arrange for the guards to find you in the fields outside of the warehouse." 

"And then contact you." Vaughn's tone had yet to show any sign of emotion. 

"Yes," he affirmed. "In which case, I would of course return as well, and show my dedication to Mr. Sloane by contacting him instead of killing you outright. I trust you're capable enough to seem useful to him afterwards, until we have all the information we desire and the CIA retrieves you both." 

"This is not even a poss - " Sydney was beyond livid, though at Sark for the suggestion or Vaughn for not immediately shooting it down, she wasn't sure. 

Vaughn reached over and took her hand, completely not caring about Kendall or Jack's presence. "Why would I trust you that much, kid? What's to stop you from betraying all of us if we let you leave Operations?" 

Sark bristled at the man's insolence. "He arranged for the death of the woman I loved," he answered shortly. "Even _you_ should be able to understand that he needs to pay for that." 

Vaughn lowered his eyes. Sydney froze. "You aren't _seriously_ considering this, are you?" 

"I didn't say you would have to remain a hostage," Sark continued. "Mr. Sloane and I generally found you useful because you could manipulate Sydney's actions. Why not use that to your advantage?" His tone was that of a teacher lecturing slower students. 

Vaughn flinched, raising his head to meet Jack's carefully neutral gaze. _There's our voucher, Jack. Sark._

"Um," Vaughn said awkwardly, after a moment. "I'd like to speak to Sydney alone for a minute." 

Slowly, the other occupants filed out. Jack was the last, and Sydney watched with wide eyes as her father and her boyfriend exchanged an unreadable gaze. Whatever Vaughn was planning, Jack knew about it. 

* * *

"Mrs. Caplan, I'm NSA Deputy Director Frederick Brandon. I know my presence here is not within the bounds of normal protocol, but you and I need to talk." 

"About what?" Elsa asked nervously. 

"How's about we start with the fact that one of my agents is married to you?" 

* * *

"Vaughn," Sydney demanded. "Tell me you're not considering this!" 

He flinched. "Syd - " 

"Because if you are, you and I have issues to discuss!" 

"Sydney, listen," Vaughn implored. "Do you remember what I said in the Focus? Don't put me ahead of the mission." 

"What mission?" she exploded. "Don't patronize me. The only thing I heard from Sark is a sureproof way to get you killed!" 

"Then you weren't listening," Vaughn shot back. Sydney's jaw dropped open. She could count on one hand the number of times her amiable boyfriend snapped at her. "Because what _I_ heard, Sydney, is the best option available to us to take down Sloane and find Neil!" 

"Why are you trusting Sark this much?" 

He eyed her. "_I_ wasn't the one who called him in, Syd." 

"That's different!" she barked. "I wasn't putting my life at stake with that phone call!" 

Vaughn put his hands on her shoulders. "Yes you were, Syd. The second you brought him in here, you risked taking responsibility for the lives of every officer in this taskforce, including you. And me. And your father. How is that any different from what I'm doing?" 

"Because my phone call didn't send you off to Spain!" 

"We need that weapon, Sydney," he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "And even I don't doubt Sark wants Sloane off the streets. And I won't abandon Neil." 

Sydney shook her head. "Then I'll go," she determined. "Sloane will be willing to work with me." 

Vaughn sighed. "Sydney, listen - " 

"No, you listen," Sydney choked. Her eyes were filling with tears, but she didn't care. "I know it sounds selfish, but you know what? I've already lost Danny, and Francie… and my parents and I are so off…" 

She leaned over, jerked him to her by his tie, and kissed him hungrily. Startled, Vaughn nevertheless responded to her, catching his breath when she pulled away with no warning. 

"I will _not_ lose you, too," she hissed. "You hear me? If that means I have to put you in the same cell they put me in, so be it. I couldn't stand it if… if…" 

"Sydney, you're not going to lose me." 

"Indeed," a new voice cut in. 

They whirled, hands flying to their service pistols as reflex asserted itself over logic. 

"Sark," Sydney growled, hand remaining on her gun as she blinked away her tears. "What are you doing in here?" 

"I had a recollection," he informed her. 

"Keep going," Vaughn prodded impatiently. 

With almost careless grace, Sark pulled up a chair facing them. "After we landed, Agent Bristow, I informed Sloane of my doubts regarding the success of your mission." He rewarded them with a smug smile. "Doubts that proved true." 

"How's about the point?" Sydney had yet to move her hand away from her pistol. 

Sark shrugged. "Sloane was unconcerned. He informed he had another plan that would supercede any deliberate failures on your part." 

"What kind of plan?" Vaughn asked warily. 

"He felt that Sydney's sense of betrayal after her arrest because of you, Agent Vaughn, would cause her to return to him wanting answers," Sark replied. "He would later say that Allison's murder and Agent Vaughn's subsequent frame were also deliberately done to drive Sydney to him," he glanced at her. "He fervently believed that you would come to him willing to do whatever he asked to learn why so many people turned against you." 

"That's ridiculous," Sydney dismissed, ignoring the cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

"As I thought," he agreed. "But there is no reason, Agent Bristow, why you couldn't join us in Spain after a reasonable amount of time, and allow Sloane's pride over his successful predictions blind him to the truth behind your actions." 

Vaughn yanked his gun out of his shoulder holster, cocked it, and placed it on the table within instant gripping range. "Enough, Sark. What are you really doing here?" 

"I've already told you," Sark didn't bother to attempt hiding his boredom at his "handler's" threats. 

"You told us the story you came up with," Sydney said, laying her hand on top of Vaughn's. 

"Which is the truth," Sark bit out. 

Vaughn merely stared at him, waiting. 

"Considering that I'm risking my freedom to do this," Sark snapped, "I would think my intentions are obvious." 

The door opened, startling the three of them. Jack strode in, Kendall following with a speakerphone in hand. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" the director asked dryly, eyeing Vaughn's gun. 

"No, sir," Vaughn mumbled, putting it away. 

"Good." He answered. "Then you have a phone call to make to your men in Spain, Mr. Sark. Let's get things started." 

* * *

"We knew he would be a target, Mrs. Caplan. We took the necessary precautions." 

She stared at Brandon, stunned. "You're telling me he knew who I was. From day one." 

"Yes." 

She closed her eyes, fighting back tears. All this time, she had lived with years of guilt for the lies, the terror of predicting what would happen if he found out… but Neil had known all along. 

And he had loved her anyway. 

* * *

The phone clicked. Sydney and Vaughn exchanged glances. There was no turning back now. 

"_Hola_." 

"So someone there _is _alive," Sark snapped. "Why did you not check in?" 

The man on the other end swallowed audibly. "_Señor_ Sark - " 

"Speak English, I'm not calling to exchange pleasantries," Sark interrupted impatiently. "Am I to assume you carried through with Mr. Sloane's orders?" 

Silence. Sydney gripped Vaughn's hand harder. _He's talking about killing Vaughn like it was a chore!_

"There have been difficulties," the man answered at last. 

Sark sat up, genuinely annoyed at the man's childish stalling. "What _kind_ of difficulties?" 

"The agent was able to escape into the fields," the man answered at last, terror at his failure apparent. "But do not worry, Mr. Sark. We will find him and complete the task." 

Vaughn looked sharply at Sark. _Showtime._

"No," Sark ordered. 

"Sir?" 

"Recapture and restrain him, yes, but do not kill him." 

"Sir?" The man's confusion was apparent. 

Sydney glared at Sark, silently adding another detail to the plan. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "And do not punish him, either," Sark added. "Rest assured that Mr. Sloane and I will exact our own version of retaliation on the agent for his defiance. I want him to be fully coherent when we do so." 

"Sir, I do not under - " 

"You don't need to understand," Sark snapped. "You just need to obey. Contact me when you have him in custody. I will inform Mr. Sloane myself. Are we clear?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Good." Sark hung up. 

"All right," Kendall said heavily into the silence. "Agent Vaughn, we'll need to get you out there A.S.A.P., it's only a matter of time before the mole informs Sloane you did indeed leave Spain. Sark - you will wait in here until your men call you back." 

Sark frowned. 

"No argument," Kendall informed him curtly. "We wouldn't you to _accidentally_ call them and change plans on us." 

"Of course," he replied sardonically. 

"Agent Vaughn, we have the clothing you were wearing in Evidence. You'll obviously need that back," Jack said brusquely. "We will arrange for the black Chevrolet to be waiting at the Embassy in Madrid for you." 

"Okay," Vaughn nodded. "The gun I took with me is in my room… I'll have to go get it." 

"You can't be seen here," Jack said, rising. "I'll have someone drive you over. They can then take you to the cargo plane." 

He nodded again, reaching over to tuck the perpetually loose strand of Sydney's hair in place. "See you soon," he told her. 

She smiled tremulously. "I'd better," she answered. 

With one last glance, he was gone. Sydney drew in a deep breath. "I'm gonna go get some air," she said to the room in the general. 

"Of course," Kendall answered, with what might have been sympathy in his tone. "Agent Bristow - " 

She raised an eyebrow. 

"I… just wanted to apologize. I stand by my actions, but I _am_ guilty of putting suspicions ahead of facts. I was wrong to doubt you and Agent Vaughn without fully looking at evidence." 

She forced a smile, genuinely touched, but too worried for it to really register. "Thank you, Director." 

Eyes bright, Sark looked between them. 

"I should - " she started. 

"Me too," he answered. "A man will be joining you shortly, Mr. Sark." 

With that, he left. Sydney waited patiently for him to turn the corner, and then walked back in the room purposely, without a hint of any emotion at all. Sark still sat there, bored, waiting for the guards to notify him. 

"We need to talk," she told him shortly. 

He cocked an eyebrow. "I daresay, Agent Bristow, I _told_ you we'd work together again." 

"Shut up," she snapped. "Listen to me. If something happens to Vaughn because of you, I'll - " 

He sighed. "Sydney, I couldn't betray your precious boyfriend without betraying myself. In which case, Mr. Sloane would kill _me_." 

She glared at him. "Anything Sloane could do to you won't compare to what _I_ will do. If one hair on his head is harmed because of you, I will pay it back tenfold." 

She turned to leave, but turned back. 

"And I promise you, Sark, I won't be as merciful as Sloane. I'll make sure you're alive and fully coherent for _every_ minute of my vengeance." 

* * *

"You're back!" Aaron exclaimed. 

"I am," Vaughn agreed, dropping the dry-cleaning bag on his couch. 

"It's about time," Weiss drawled, frowning as his friend refused to look him in the eyes. "What's in the bag?" 

Vaughn ignored him, bending down stiffly to give the waiting Aaron a hug. "Whatcha got there?" he asked curiously. 

"Cars," Aaron grinned, running one up the black sleeve of his suit jacket. 

"Very neat," Vaughn told him. 

Will chose that moment to enter the living room, eyes red. "Hey." 

"Hey," Vaughn answered. "You okay?" 

"Yeah," he said heavily. "I will be. Where's Sydney?" 

Aaron tugged on his jacket. "At Operations," he answered, giving the little boy his attention again. "What's up, buddy?" 

"Where's Mommy?" 

"She's…" Vaughn paused. How exactly did one tell a little boy his mother was being debriefed by people still not certain of her allegiance? "She's working on something," he said lamely. "She'll be back soon, okay?" 

Aaron shrugged, lips pursed as he _vroomed_ the Matchbox car up Vaughn's suit sleeve again. "Okay." 

"Aaron," Will cut in, "I think these two need to talk about something. Why don't we go see what food Mr. Vaughn has?" 

As Vaughn raised an eyebrow at the term of address, Aaron stood up from where he'd mimicked Vaughn's crouch on the floor. "Only if there's ice cream," the little boy answered seriously. 

"Uh, yeah," Vaughn said. "There should be." 

"Okay then," Aaron agreed brightly. He reached up a chubby hand and rested the little red car in Vaughn's hand. "Hold that for me," he ordered. "Don't wanna get it dirty." 

Weiss smirked. 

"I'll take good care of it," Vaughn said solemnly. 

With one more nod, Aaron was gone. Amused, Vaughn rose and turned to Eric. "_Mr._ Vaughn? He makes me sound like a teacher." 

"Blame Elsa," Weiss drawled. "Mothers, man." 

Vaughn smiled at that. His mother had insisted upon the same thing. In English _and_ French. 

"But anyway," Weiss continued. "What's in the bag, Mike?" 

Vaughn grimaced. _He's going to have to find out sooner or later._

"Clothes," he stalled. 

"Yes, thank you," Weiss replied, eyes narrowing. _You're a terrible liar, Mike._ Without a word, he bypassed Michael entirely and snatched up the bag before his friend could intercept him. 

"Eric!" Vaughn protested. 

Weiss raised an eyebrow at the all-too-familiar, bullet-hole-emblazoned blue silk shirt that was inside the garment bag. "You know, most people don't dry clean stuff before they throw them away." 

Vaughn flushed. "I'm not." 

"Oh?" Weiss' suspicions were growing. _No. Mike's not crazy._

His friend visibly gulped. "Eric," he managed to say. "I have to get something from my room. Come with me, there's something you should know." 

* * *

"You said you had an _offer_ for me." 

"Indeed," Irina agreed. "Do you know what that device is capable of, Mr. Caplan?" 

"No," he lied. She smiled at him again. 

"Sloane is scheduled to activate the device at a certain time as specified by Rambaldi. He will then pinpoint it at the area of his choosing. Everyone within that target will die." 

"Los Angeles," Caplan choked out, horrified. 

"Yes," Irina affirmed. "My offer is simple, Mr. Caplan. I wish for you to figure out a way to ensure that certain people within that area are not affected by the device you constructed." 

She leaned forward. "Do that, and I will allow you to add your wife and son to the list of those spared." 

* * *

"That's not a plan, Mike! That's suicide!" 

"Eric, you're not listening to me - " 

"No," Weiss cut him off. "The problem is that I _am_ listening. So let me get this straight. You go back to Spain and get _recaptured_. But that's _okay_, because Sark has called ahead to ensure that you're spared. The guards then call Sark, who comes for you and then contacts Sloane. Sark then _gives you_ to Sloane as a peace offering. And you then convince the _former head of SD-6_ that you are willing to work with him to clear your name? And hope to run across Derevko and Caplan in the process, all the while knowing that if Sark betrays you, you're toast? No, that's not insane _at all_." 

"It is the best way to - " 

"To get yourself killed!" Weiss exploded. "No. _No_. You just got out of almost dying, and you want to go _back_? How many times did they hit you on the head again?" 

"Eric - " 

"Mike, if you go through with this I'll kill you myself. At least that way it'll be painless! What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" 

The doorbell rang. "That's Craig," Vaughn mumbled. "Eric - " 

Weiss turned away, shaking his head. 

"Fine," Vaughn sighed. Reluctantly, he unfastened his shoulder holster and dropped it on the couch, picking up the heavy automatic rifle in the process. 

"Take care of yourself," Weiss mumbled as Vaughn headed for the door, setting the little red car on the couch before doing so. 

"What?" 

"You heard me." 

Vaughn nodded to him, reaching down and picking up the garment bag. "Take care of her for me," he whispered. "Especially if - " 

"I will," Weiss vowed. 

His younger friend gave him a tremulous smile, before turning on his heel and heading down the stairs to his ride. 

* * *

"Everything is on schedule." 

"Good. See to it that he is not harmed, Sark. I wouldn't do that to Sydney." 

"As ordered, Ms. Derevko." 

**- end part one -**

_Up next_: Neil's tracker is activated and Vaughn finds himself the victim of a cliché. See you in a week! 

Review Responses: 

Dude! You guys gave me like **30** for the last chapter! **I love you all to pieces!** And I am **so sorry** for my delay in posting, because I definitely should have posted this Saturday! My teacher for one of online classes decided to give us a surprise, due-the-same-day 1000 word essay, and then as I looked over my massive **17 page chapter**, I found a huge plot hole that took another **5 pages** to fill. So I was late. But… but… I gave you **a 22 page chapter**, I hope that makes up for it! And no, I'm not deliberately pointing out how long this is. It's not like I'm in shock over it or anything. ;) 

And if you've read the above babblings, thank you! Due to length, the Review Responses will be posted separately tomorrow. Just 'cause I just finished polishing this whole long thing and haven't slept in 2 days and would not be able to give you guys the responses you deserved! 

See you guys **tomorrow for review responses** and **in a week for Chapter 33**! 


	34. Custodial Justice

Info: 

- **Title**: _Presages_ (Part II) 

- **Author**: A. Jinnie McManus 

- **Rating**: PG-13 (strong) 

- **Spoilers/Timeline**: Begins directly at the end of "A Free Agent." All episodes aired afterwards do not apply to this AU story, though some elements have been incorporated. Conversely, all elements prior to AFA, both on and off camera, fully apply to my plot. Spoilers for at least the episodes prior to AFA, and probably most after it. 

- **Summary**: Love both condemns and conquers. AU from "A Free Agent" on. Prominent S/V, but otherwise ensemble fic. 

- **Disclaimer**: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended. 

- **'Ship**: S/V, J/I, some others. 

- **Archiving**: Ask first. 

**_Chapter Thirty Three - Custodial Justice_**

During his time at The Farm and CST, Michael Vaughn had trained extensively for many dangerous situations. Naturally more observant and instinctual than most, he had typically excelled in almost any circumstance his teachers could confront him with. His missions with Sydney had proven his abilities to the point where he had been reclassified as a field agent and acknowledged as one of the Agency's most successful young operatives. 

He'd never had reason to regret his skills before. 

The cargo plane had landed surreptitiously in Madrid and Vaughn had immediately headed straight for the American embassy to reclaim the stolen black car. He had then driven as close to the warehouse as he dared before abandoning the car and hiking towards the building. 

Because of Sark's phone call, he had been certain the guards would be extra diligent. He had spent the majority of the car ride determining exactly how much he would resist (_go all out_, he decided, _it would look suspicious not to do so_), and had stepped out of the Chevy half expecting to be apprehended right then and there. 

But he had been wrong. Two hours later, short of knocking on the warehouse door or stomping up behind a guard, he was running out of ideas to get himself caught. 

* * *

"Let's talk about that tracking device, Mrs. Caplan." 

Still blinking away tears, Elsa forced herself to focus. Out of necessity, she had placed her husband's safety second in priority to the well-being of the two people that had saved her and her son. But her role in that was over now. It was time to focus on making her family whole again. 

_Hang on, Neil. I love you. You'll be home soon. _

* * *

Vaughn sighed, frustrated. He was almost up to front door of the warehouse, and had yet to come across any guards. _And to think that these people almost killed me last time!_

He wondered what that said about his own competence. 

Ah, well. Enough was enough, and he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Cocking the automatic gun he had taken from the Spanish guard - Ricardo - that he had killed, he aimed the gun straight up. And fired. 

Five minutes later, his plan had commenced… courtesy of a tranquilizer dart to the shoulder. 

* * *

She stared at the phone. Funny, sometimes, how even the most unthreatening object in the world could frighten her. 

The choice was up to her, she knew. Marcus had not denied that. He had lied to her more times than he had told the truth, had willingly engaged in conduct that was all but guaranteed to ensure that their little family lost him… 

Had almost _died_, with her still believing those lies. 

Her head hurt. Still eyeing the menacing phone, Diane Dixon reached up a hand to rub her forehead. As she did so, the glint from her wedding ring caught the sunlight. The fractured light gleamed brightly, illuminating the room with sparkles. 

Dazzled, she turned her hand, watching as the beautiful light caught all the dark corners of the room. A soft smile appeared on her face for the first time in days. Suddenly, her decision seemed clear. 

Sucking in her breath, she leaned over and picked up the phone. _Was it always this heavy?_

"Marcus?" she said nervously when he answered. "Can we talk?" 

* * *

He regained consciousness slowly and in stages, aware of only two things: he was sitting upright in a chair, and his shoulder ached fiercely from the tranquilizer dart. He shook his head, fighting the last effects of the drug and coaxing his vision to clear. He tried to bring his hands up to rub his eyes and hurry along the process, but he couldn't seem to move them. 

But finally, his vision returned to normal. Vaughn looked around, intending to survey his surroundings, but froze. An all-too-familiar guard stood in front of him, the leather binding straps from last time held loosely in his hand. All other manacles and chains had been affixed to him as he slept. _Ricardo? Didn't I…_

His bewilderment must have shown on his face, because the man smiled maliciously. "_No soy quién usted piensa._," he smirked. ("I am not who you think.") 

Vaughn took a deep breath. "_Mirada - "_ ("Look - ") 

But even as he spoke, Ricardo moved swiftly. Still disoriented, Vaughn tried to follow his movements, but failed miserably. 

His other senses made up for his lapse. One minute the man was in front of him, the next… 

Vaughn gasped, sheer agony invading every _pore_ of his body as the man slammed one of the leather straps _hard_ across his shoulders and upper back. He dropped his head, stunned at the amount of pain lancing up and down his spine. Had he not been bound to the chair, the force of the blow would have thrown him to the floor. 

From behind him, his tormentor laughed. Vaughn braced himself as yet another lash came down, the burn from the makeshift whip so intense it felt as though someone had positioned a blowtorch right against his back. Blood and sweat poured off of him. He had been through _far_ too much these past few months. Had he been in full health, he would have at least managed to last longer with no reaction, but his strength was already depleted. 

It was only a matter of time before he fell completely. 

And the man chuckled again. Another blow landed. And another. And another. And another. He took his time, carefully insuring that Vaughn received the highest amount of agony with the least amount of effort on his part. Irrationally Vaughn began to shiver, not from fright but because the flogging was causing his body heat to rise so dramatically his mind registered him as being cold. _Freezing_ cold_._ He would have screamed, but the shivers locked up his throat and made his teeth chatter, making it difficult to even breathe. 

"_Usted mató a mi hermano_," the man repeated with every impact. "_Usted mató a mi hermano!"_ ("You killed my brother!") 

"I - " Vaughn choked out. 

The man responded by hitting him harder, skillfully maneuvering the leather strap to land in the same places as previous blows. Vaughn stifled a sob as he jerked with each and every flare of pain, refusing to give the man any further satisfaction as the merciless blows _thwacked!_ down on him. 

Again. And again. And again. And again. _Andagainandagainandagain_… 

"Diego? _Parada!_" A new voice cut in, just as Vaughn's endurance _finally_ began to allow him to return to unconsciousness. "_¿Qué usted está _haciendo_?_" ("Stop! What are you _doing_?") 

The scourging ended abruptly and Vaughn couldn't help the soft moan that escaped his lips. He tried mechanically to curl into a protective ball, a move not permitted by his restraints. Behind him the conversation between guards continued, but Vaughn was in too much pain to even attempt translating it. The only word he recognized was Sark's name as the other captor evidently reminded his tormentor of Sark's "don't-hurt-him" orders. 

_Lot of good those did_, he thought acrimoniously. 

The man's voice rose, startling him. Through all the lashings, Ricardo's brother had kept his voice pitched just above a whisper to force Vaughn to concentrate to hear him, and thus remain alert longer. The sounds of his shouts were thus just as jarring to Vaughn's currently torture-heightened senses as the strap itself had been. He closed his eyes, willing himself to black out. 

And then the new arrival won the argument. Grumbling, Ricardo's brother - _did the other guard call him by name? Diego?_ - returned to again stand in front of him, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head up, the harsh movements causing Vaughn to automatically make eye contact. 

Diego glowered at him. "We _will_ continue, CIA," he mocked in English, voice heavily accented. He waved the bloodstained straps around for emphasis. 

Drawing strength from reserves he didn't even know he had, Vaughn somehow managed to meet the other man's look of hatred with an even stare of his own. "You're very brave against an unarmed man," he mocked in return, the words coming out ragged from unvoiced screams. "_Su hermano sería orgulloso!_" ("Your brother would be proud!") 

Diego's eyes narrowed and he spat into Vaughn's face. With an effort Vaughn didn't turn away, didn't do anything that would give the guard any additional feelings of victory over him. 

"Diego!" the other guard prompted. 

Murmuring curses under his breath, Diego released Vaughn's hair, but Vaughn kept his head up and gaze proud. Swiftly, the guard replaced the straps in the same places as the last time, but pulled them cruelly tight so that the captive pressed unavoidably against the chair, forced to put pressure on the lacerations on his back. 

With one last mocking smile, the guard left. Then and only then did Vaughn drop his head, shaking uncontrollably as anguish rippled through every _cell_ of his body. His involuntary movements caused the strap and the chair to press even harder against his wounds, and he couldn't help the tiny half sob\half cry of pain that escaped. It was done. He was spent. 

* * *

"Mr. Caplan, I need your decision." 

He stared at the woman, eyes red from exhaustion. Not only physically, but mentally. 

"Funny how you say that like I have a choice," he responded bitterly. 

She rose at his words, gracing him with one final smile that was equal parts calculating and reassuring. 

"Where are you going?" he demanded. 

"To play a puppet," she answered, and he couldn't help but shudder at the undercurrent of rage in her tone, even if it was not directed at him. 

* * *

Footsteps behind him startled him and for one horrible moment, Vaughn thought Diego had come back. His endurance was gone, and he had no doubt that if the man continued the lashings at this time, he would break in short order. But it was the other guard, the one who had stopped his torture, and Vaughn was somewhat startled to find that person a woman. 

"This won't happen again," she told him, accent distinctly British. Her slender body was hidden entirely in black clothing, and wisps of blonde hair peeked out from underneath her black ski mask. Holstering her pistol with careless grace, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a syringe. 

"Until Mr. Sark arrives… Diego will not come near you. I will make certain of that." She stepped closer, absently prepping the syringe as she did so. 

"Wait," Vaughn managed to say, voice still rough. "Who are - " 

She ignored him, pity and dedication to duty warring in her eyes. 

"I was going to do this anyway, to prevent a repeat of previous events… but I daresay it might even help you." 

And with that, she stepped toward him and slid the needle into the side of his throat with surprising gentleness. He whimpered at first; the drug was utterly searing as it flowed into him, but it worked quickly. As soon as she withdrew the syringe Vaughn relaxed, spiraling into a deep hole where nothing and no one could hurt him. 

The woman stood there for a moment, looking down at him, before pulling out her cell phone. 

She had a job to do. It was nothing personal. 

**- to be continued -**

And here I am, with around 430 reviews, starting Part II. Life is wonderful! 

But I must also say that life is also _busy_. :sniff: I regret to state that updates will not be as insanely fast as mine usually are, simply because I am _so_ buried in like, every activity possible. I have the rest of this story outlined, but not written. 

Right now, I will _try_ to update every three days. If things are going like they are in my zany life, I may have to make that weekly. However, the chapters will be longer (this one was 5 pages!) in consolation. 

And of course, on breaks and stuff, "2 or 10?" will happily apply. 

See you in three days! :crosses fingers: 


	35. Review Responses for 32 and 33

**_Review Responses_**

Which I had all typed up and ready to go whenever I said originally said I was gonna post them, and then the power went out and I totally lost them all. For the record. 

**London**: Added! 

**Winking Tiger**: Ditto on whatever I said @ SD-1. LOL 

**Ivy3**: Howzabout a whole new chapter? LOL 

**Chanel3**: I ended up getting a 93% on that essay, thank goodness. That was not fun! Thanks for reading! 

**Andi Horton**: Hey! Welcome back! Hopefully your paper isn't as horrid as mine was! 

**Teaser**: "As long as he doesn't kill him, that's fine." 

**MvsGirl**: That's seriously the best compliment anyone can give me. Thank you! And uh, I emailed you. Really! Must not have gone through. Hate when that happens. ;) 

**Jessica**: Here ya go! 

**K4e**: Just to show how sad my life is, I spent a good while trying to decide if this was Season 2 or Season 3. It's S2 because second part and all, but S3 because it started in the middle of S2 on the show. I think that's what I decided anyway. LOL 

**Gatorgrl**: Thanks! :) It's not over, I swear! Don't be sad! lol

Rosana: I fear that Vaughn may not carry many fond memories of Spain after this chapter. lol 

**valley_girl2**: LMAO, 2 reviews?! Wow! I'm glad you enjoyed it! It took long enough to write! :grumbles: 

**Ilovemypenguin**: Rise, rise! No feet-kissing here! (I prefer credit cards, money orders…) :ahem: anyway… 

**Anonymousthinker**: Vaughn is just blinded by his determination, I think. Idiot. Good thing he's cute! 

**Kay10197**: :whistles: 

**Raina**: LMAO, make sure you watch where you're going! 

**Kittyfantastico**: :gushes: Glad you liked! Yes, Sark is much adored here. And stay tuned… he has a plan of his own. ;) 

**Nattie700**: Hello to a person as busy as me! LOL 

**UKHoneyB**: How did you survive? With SD-1 teasers, of course. ;) lol 

**wonder monkey:** Mercí! 

**Anki**: I adore Weiss. And Greg Gunberg. 

**Reverie**: Welcome back! I'm always worried when reviewers disappear… I'm like, 'did they not like something and are like 'pssssh, next story!'?' LOL. I so adore your reviews too, they're profound than my story, and they make me look like quite the author! Hee. 

**LittleSyd**: Never thought I'd see the day where FF.net was more stable than SD-1. 

**Snowangel4**: Physics? :shudders: Thanks for stopping by! 

**Karmen**: Yay! I love new reviewers! As for Weiss, Sark went to talk to Sydney, and Weiss just happened to be there, pretty much. :) 

See y'all in 3 days! 


	36. In Small Places

**_Chapter Thirty Four - In Small Places_**

The phone rang. Sydney and Jack, who had returned to the same room where a bored Sark waited, both looked at each other. 

"Hello," Sark called toward the phone. 

"Mr. Sark," a woman's voice said. "We have him." 

Sydney swallowed hard, trying not to show any emotion in front of the terrorist, and failing miserably. _Vaughn…_

"Excellent," Sark said. "I will arrive shortly." 

"Yes, sir," the woman said, voice hesitant. "Sir… there's something you should know." 

Sydney eyes widened. 

"Yes?" Sark prompted coolly. 

"We apprehended him using tranquilizer darts to ensure we didn't accidentally kill him," the woman said. "But after we had him… Diego went against your orders." 

Sydney couldn't breathe. He couldn't be… he wasn't… _Why did I agree to this? Why didn't I stop him? Why didn't I _make_ him see reason?_

"He killed the agent?" Sark snapped at the phone, irritation not from Vaughn's possible death, but from the insolence shown by his staff. 

Sydney brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears of denial springing to her eyes. _Why didn't I _stop_ him?_

"No," the woman answered quickly. "No. Diego flagellated the agent. I caught him as he was doing it and made him stop, but he had already delivered quite a few lashes." 

_He's not dead._ The relief that shot through her was all-compassing, which directly contrasted with the rage welling in her at the news of Vaughn's agony. Whatever guard had dared to hurt him would be paid back by her. Slowly. Times _ten_. 

"Oh," Sark said dismissively, not caring. "As long as he doesn't kill him, that's fine." 

Jack straightened, handing the younger man a burning glare. 

"That _one_ time was fine, but make sure it doesn't happen again," Sark amended, unable to look at Jack. 

"Yes, sir. I'll watch Diego just as closely as the agent." 

Sydney gazed expectantly at Sark, her intentions obvious. She may not be able to speak to him (yet), but hearing Vaughn's voice would be welcome consolation. 

To his credit, Sark capitulated with little fuss. "I wish to to speak to Mr. Vaughn," Sark ordered the guard. 

The woman hesitated. The roller coaster that was Sydney's emotions again took a plunge. "My apologies sir, but that will not be possible." 

"Because…" Sark prompted. 

"The agent was in considerable pain, and I felt I risked a repeat of previous events if I allowed him to remain conscious or loosened his restraints to grant him relief," she explained. "So I injected him with a full dose of Chlordiazepoxide, and barring any objections from you, sir, will continue to do so on interval until you arrive." 

Beside his daughter, Jack fought to hide a wince. He knew that drug well from countless interrogation sessions he had done under Sloane's orders: horrific on the body itself, sometimes permanently though that had rarely been a concern for him, as dosages were increased. The possible effects regular injections of that drug could have on Vaughn, who had already been at a low point _before_ the torture, was chilling at _best_. Sydney glanced at him questioningly, sensing his mood change, but he only nodded to her and buried his emotions as a result. 

Right now, any effects the drug would have on Vaughn in the future were outweighed by the instant benefit of him escaping his current anguish. 

"Excellent," Sark approved, not bothering to even pretend concern. Sydney would just have to deal with it. He had followed her orders, it was not his issue if his staff chose not to do so. "Very efficient. I shall arrive within a few days. I expect you to contact me with any interruptions to the agenda." 

"Of course, sir," the woman answered. The phone clicked. 

* * *

"And that's the enabling combination?" 

"Yes," Elsa snapped, irritated. _Why do these people not see any urgency in finding Neil?_

Rick's eyes widened a little behind his glasses. Elsa sighed. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I just…" 

He nodded sympathetically, fingers flying across the keyboard. The program currently open was serving as locator. "It's fine, Mrs. Caplan," he assured. 

Finished typing, he leaned back in his chair and simply waited. Curious, Elsa mimicked that. 

They were rewarded a few moments later when a flashing red dot appeared on the screen. 

* * *

_I'm so stupid. How could I not notice?_

Will groaned, burying his head in his hands. He still sat on Vaughn's couch, a fuming Weiss trying to calm down by making sundaes with Aaron in the kitchen. 

Sydney felt guilty, too. Of that Will was certain. But she hadn't _slept_ with Francie (_Allison_). Will had known that woman on the most primal level of human socialization. 

And he still hadn't even _suspected_ deception. 

* * *

"Well, then," Jack said, voice unreadable as he rose. "I have some specing to do." 

Sark started to rise, but Jack shook his head. "Stay there." 

His eyes narrowed. "Agent Bristow - " 

"You'll forgive me if I disregard your story until DNA results are in," the older man interrupted. "Until then - " he reached over and unplugged the phone, tucking it under his arm - "You can wait here." 

He scowled but sank back down. 

"Sydney?" Jack inquired, noting she had yet to move. 

"Right," she murmured. Visions of what Vaughn had obviously just experienced because of his - and _her_ - idiocy swam in front of her eyes, choking off her breath. _You'll be fine. You have to be fine. He'll pay for what he did to you, Vaughn. He'll _slowly_ pay._

"Sydney?" 

Even Sark looked at her, raising a blonde eyebrow at her disorientation. 

"Coming," she murmured. Her father nodded, holding the door for her with his free hand. Forcing herself to pull it together, she strolled through. 

Jack gave Sark one last warning glance before following his daughter, closing and locking the door behind him. 

* * *

She slipped in quietly, carefully ensuring her steps didn't make a sound on the hard cement floor. The agent still slumped over in a forced sleep, unaware of his circumstances, and she knew that right now there was nothing he needed more. 

Swiftly, she pulled out another syringe from her pocket, checking the dosage carefully. The drug she had given him the first time, while she had an audience, was dangerous and could result in everything from heat strokes to seizures to memory loss. It was already hampering his blood from clotting. 

Which meant that the antidote could do even further damage to him if administered improperly. Senses still on high alert, she stood there for a moment and just studied him, genuinely confused. She had watched his approach towards the warehouse for almost two hours, successfully distracting Diego in the process, and wondered all the while why he had seemed to _want_ to be caught. 

Carefully, she knelt by the American's side and injected the needle. She had no doubt Diego would be insistent on giving him some of the dosages before Mr. Sark returned, and so she needed to get as much of the counteragent in his blood as possible for the Chlordiazepoxide the other guard would not be pretending to give him. 

* * *

"That's impossible," Rick said, astonished. 

"What is?" Elsa demanded, leaning over his shoulder. 

"According to this, your husband is only a few blocks away," he said, voice still shocked. She knew what he was thinking - this was just too easy. 

"What's going on?" 

They turned. Sydney and Jack Bristow walked rapidly over to meet them, presumably having finished implementing their plan with Sark. Elsa swallowed hard. They had invited her to that meeting, but that meant she would've had to see again the man (_kid, really_) that had so carelessly threatened her innocent little boy… 

"We activated Neil Caplan's tracker," Rick intervened, sensing her disorientation. "But according to this, he's just a few blocks away…" he typed swiftly, eyes blinking owlishly behind his glasses. "4556 S. Dunston Avenue," he read. "There's an apartment complex there… I might be able to narrow it down to which one…" 

"That's Vaughn's apartment," Sydney blurted, studying the screen. 

Jack paused. His daughter was a brilliant agent, undeniably, but up until recently protocol had forbidden her from knowing that information. The first time she had been there, as far as he knew, was today, when her spy-honed senses were far from best. _How does she…_

Sydney colored, eyes falling to the floor. 

"Okay," Rick said quickly. "Agent Bristow, with your leave, I'll get a retrieval team ready to rescue - " he stopped, the ridiculousness of his words obvious. Neil Caplan clearly was not in Vaughn's apartment. 

"I'll go with," Sydney cut him off. Jack nodded. 

"Me too," Elsa spoke up. The father/daughter pair turned to look at her, skepticism apparent. She sighed. "Look," she said shortly. "I'm a spy too, remember? I have training just like you. And besides that… I want to see my son." 

* * *

"Did you get that, Ms. Derevko?" 

"Yes, I did. Sark, I _ordered_ that Mr. Vaughn was not to be harmed." 

"I obviously cannot help the actions of the staff at this current time," he returned curtly. 

"I wasn't aware you employed people that didn't obey you," she replied, still simmering. "But to get back on topic, I am on my way. Have you contacted him yet?" 

"They are apparently waiting for the DNA to coincide before allowing me to do so." 

"Excellent. That means I have more time." 

"Yes." 

* * *

Will shot to his feet when the door opened with no warning, eyes widening incredulously when 8 men dressed all in black flooded in. "What - " 

"Will, get down," Weiss hissed, gun already out. The agent scanned the intruders wildly, one hand on the pistol, the other holding a squirming Aaron behind him. 

"Mommy!" the child yelled. 

_He's scared_, Weiss thought, stomach twisting. If they hurt him… 

"Aaron!" a voice returned. One of the men in black tore off the mask, revealing the features of Elsa Caplan. 

_Huh?_

Jack and Sydney followed suit, all of them heading straight for Vaughn's bedroom without a second glance. 

"In here!" Sydney called. 

Still wondering what universe he woke up in, Weiss followed the team. He was dimly aware of Elsa carefully pulling her son out of his grip and seizing him in a hug as he did so. 

* * *

Sydney scanned Vaughn's room intently. The locator had all but gone crazy; beeping up a storm the second they entered. 

"Agent Bristow!" 

She turned. The agent in charge of the team knelt in front of Vaughn's night table, struggling with the drawer. "The tracker is in here," he said, confused. 

Sydney shook her head. "So where's Caplan?" she asked aloud. 

Her father stepped over, maneuvering the top of the table off with expert precision. He then paused, an unreadable emotion flashing across his eyes. 

Neil's small silver tracker sat on top of the safe, flashing wildly. Taped to it was a note in Irina's distinctive handwriting. 

_Truth takes time._

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Sloane and Sark discuss Vaughn's fate. With him right there and ignored. Don't you hate it when people do that? 

Review Responses

445 reviews???? **You guys rock.**

MvsGirl: I got it. ;) 

Ilovemypenguin: Aww, it's the thought that counts. Hee. 

Chanel: Good luck! 

valley-girl2: :sniffles: Poor Vaughn! C'mere, lemme give you a hug! Wait! Where are you going? Come back! 

Karmen: Hope you enjoyed. :) 

Anonymousthinker: There is no Mrs. Vaughn in this story. ;) 

Kay10197: Special fix delivery! lol 

Arwen Vaughn: Who are you talking about? :bats eyes: 

Ivy: And dimpled cheeks, too. :D 

Kittyfantastico: Awwww! Wow! I feel so loved! :hugs: She's not Sydney, as this chapter helpfully pointed out. ;) Yes, an umbrella sounds like a good idea. LOL 

UKHoneyB: I try to do a teaser a day over there. 

Raina: Yup and yup! lol. I think SAG has updated fics at SD-1? Don't quote me. 

Gatorgrl: I felt so guilty! Mr. Vaughn is my desktop wallpaper, so I would write a sentence and then apologize to him. lol 

C-n-C: Good question. ;) 

See y'all Saturday! 


	37. Intervention

**_Chapter Thirty Five: Intervention_**

"I wanted to thank you," she said quietly. 

"What for?" her husband asked. 

They sat at a nearby restaurant while the kids played at home with a sitter. It was a neutral place, and noisy enough to have their conversation not overheard. 

"For leaving it up to me," she said. _For never giving up on us._

He looked troubled. "Diane, I love you. But I will never deny that I lied to you. Of course it's your decision." 

She nodded, eyes fixed on her straw as she stirred her ice cubes around. 

"Diane - " 

"Marcus - " 

They flushed, dropping their heads and stirring their drinks rapidly. 

* * *

"Agent Bristow!" 

Following the retrieval team in, Jack turned. Rick flew up to him, out of breath. "Yes?" 

"The DNA comparisons are in," the younger man answered, handing him the file. 

* * *

Waking up hurt. Come to think of it, breathing and blinking weren't much better. 

Vaughn shifted slightly (_bad idea_) and tried not to moan. His upper back and shoulders seared with agony, and his throat burned from holding in screams. He was thirsty - desperately so. Not a good sign. 

But he was also alone. Closing his eyes, he forced the pain from his mind. It simply didn't exist. All that existed was logic. 

Something he had apparently been missing lately. It was time to remedy that. 

* * *

Jack scanned the file once, twice, three times. Part of him was relieved, while another part of him lurched. If asked, he wouldn't have been able to say whether or not he was pleased. Both options had complications. 

But even more so, of course, for the option backed by the DNA results. 

Sark had been telling the truth. 

* * *

"It is time to give him another dose of the sedative." 

She grimaced. The two guards stood outside, sunning themselves and watching for Mr. Sark's arrival. A constant watch was hardly required for the captive inside, especially after Diego went against orders. 

"I gave him one a few hours ago," she lied carefully. In reality she had given him more of the counteragent, trying her best to chemically cancel out the initial dose that was already in his bloodstream. Granted, that meant she was actually speeding up when he could awaken… but considering his current physical state, she doubted he would have enough strength to regain consciousness anyway. 

"I know," Diego dismissed. "I watched." He smiled, the blood flicks on his cheeks, the gun on his shoulder and his heavy accent adding to the chilling image he presented. "It's my turn." 

"No, I - " she started quickly. 

He ignored her. "Call Mr. Sark and report," he ordered, picking up a syringe from a nearby table and striding down the hallway. 

* * *

Vaughn strained against the manacles holding his arms, whimpering softly as his movements caused him to stretch apart wounds on his back. Whoever had again put him in this blasted chair had not been observant; the chains seemed willing to open with a proper flex of strength. 

Something he didn't have at the minute, apparently. It was taking everything he had to stay awake and make his current tiny movements. Truthfully, even if he could free himself, he knew beyond a doubt he'd be reduced to crawling. And even that was questionable. Dehydrated and wounded, with more raw cuts on his back than skin, it was a miracle he was able to stay awake. 

He groaned, straining again. He needed to get away from the guards. Possibly contact the CIA and arrange for his newest subordinate to recapture him in the fields, even. Because if he stayed here, Ricardo's brother was going to kill him. And he wouldn't do that to Sydney. Or his widowed mother, for that matter. 

He gave himself another few moments to steel himself for the pain, and then pulled again. His concentration on his task was so intense, his resources so taxed, that he failed to realize he now had an audience. 

* * *

Another hour, another briefing. 

Leaning back lazily in the comfortable leather chair, Sark didn't bother to look up when the door opened. Since that first debriefing, an agent had poked his head in to check on him every 10 minutes or so and another one had frisked him at Kendall's orders. 

"Don't let me interrupt," a voice said. Sighing grudgingly, Sark sat up straight and folded his hands on the table. Kendall glowered at him. "Results are in," the Director informed him. 

Sark waited, one eyebrow raised. 

"The strand is indeed Allison Doren's," the man finished, reluctance at revealing that obvious. Sark flashed him a razor thin smile. 

"As I informed you it would be," he replied. 

* * *

"Curious," Diego said from the doorway. Vaughn froze in place at the sound, eyes widening slightly. 

The man strolled into the room, a mocking smile on his face. _Shit_, Vaughn swore. Hiding his emotions behind a mask, he raised his head and watched the guard walk towards him. 

_"El sedante que usted se dieron es suficiente a abajo un paciente en un hospital por seis horas. Nosotros lo hemos estado administrando a usted cada cuatro,"_ the guard informed him. ("The sedative you were given is enough to down a patient in a hospital for six hours. We have been administering it to you every four.") 

He tapped the capped needle lightly against his palm. "_Por lo menos _ella_ tiene_," he mused to himself. ("At least _she_ has.") 

Vaughn said nothing, mentally filing away that little tidbit for later. Provided he had a later. 

Diego stepped closer and Vaughn tensed automatically. He was rewarded with a jeering smile as the guard, with studious carelessness, pulled up a chair at the table and sank into it, resting his gun and the syringe on the table beside him. 

"Answer me, American," he said, the English still menacing but awkward-sounding. "When you killed my brother, did he suffer?" 

Vaughn paused. Of all questions, that one was the least he had considered as possible. 

"No," he answered with prompt honestly, never even considering denying the man a response. "_No, él hizo no_." ("No, he did not.") 

The man nodded, face hardening. Vaughn mentally swore again. _Not good._

"You took him away from me," the guard said, temper rising. He rose, stalking over to tower over the prisoner. Vaughn swallowed hard, not bothering to argue circumstance. What would the point be? 

Rage further ignited by his silence, Diego turned and left the room. Vaughn paused, thrown. The guard had just left - and his gun was still on the table! 

* * *

Both Kendall and Sark looked up when the door opened again to admit both Bristows and Agents Weiss and Dixon. And following them, nervousness apparent, was… 

Sark inclined his head. "Mrs. Caplan," he greeted, ignoring all other people in the room. She glared back. 

"Here's how this is going to work," Kendall said shortly. "You will return to Spain as planned, and work under and for Agent Vaughn to render Arvin Sloane vulnerable. In the time it takes for you to prepare Sloane for us, you will use your access to learn all you can about his organization, his contact list, his associations with Irina Derevko, and the status of Neil Caplan. Do those things, Mr. Sark, and we will consider an immunity agreement." 

_The whereabouts_, Elsa corrected mentally. _Not the status._

"Is that all?" Sark's voice was amused. "I don't presume to say that means you trust me." 

"Good," Sydney shot back. 

Kendall glanced at her. "I don't know what your agenda is, Sark." he said shortly. "But yes, your willingness to incriminate yourself with Ms. Calfo's murder has earned you the beginnings of trust. Waste it, and I will personally devote my career to having you tried and executed." 

"Then I suppose I shan't 'waste it'," he replied. 

* * *

Vaughn's bewildered elatedness was short-lived. Mere seconds after leaving, Diego returned with a jug of soda water and a wound handkerchief clutched in his hands. Without any warning at all, he stalked over to Vaughn and forced the cloth around and into the prisoner's mouth, gagging the agent effectively. When Vaughn grunted, surprised, Diego smirked to himself and tipped the jug. 

Vaughn jerked and gasped, the carbonated-sizzling liquid feeling like acid as it _slowly_ dripped down his lacerated shoulders and back, tracing lines of fire akin to the same way the strap had. His abrupt movements were far too much for his body to handle, and this time he couldn't help a scream as the rest of his wounds were ripped open or forcibly torn away from where they had attached themselves to the chair. His cry was caught and squelched by the gag, the other man knowing his partner would come running if she realized what he was doing. 

The guard waited a few minutes for the agony to fully sink in, and then drenched the agent again. Held in place by the straps, Vaughn couldn't even lean forward to get away. He again thrashed and cried out, the muffled sounds bordering on hysteria, the movements causing even more damage and pain than the actual soda water was. A cruel form of torture, Diego knew, that rested the blame for most of the pain on the prisoner, rather than the torturer. The man that had killed his brother deserved nothing less. 

"Diego, _parada_!" 

Diego ignored her. This time, Vaughn was too far gone to even brace himself. His violent flinching had only succeeded in injuring himself further, perhaps seriously. Gut-wrenching sobs escaped, escalated by the fact that he couldn't breathe around the gag and the blood pooling in his mouth. _Internal injuries,_ he noted detachedly, even as he choked and gasped for air. 

"Stop!" a new voice commanded, in English. Realization dawned. That woman wasn't British… 

Diego whirled. Irina Derevko stood there, eyes shooting sparks. His partner stood just behind her. 

"_Now_," the Russian hissed, voice frigid with rage. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Jinnie's Up Next from last chapter. LOL 

My apologies, but it's one of my swamped moments. I'll make for it Tuesday, I swear!

And feel free to review anyway. ;-) 


	38. Bargains in Blood

**_Chapter Thirty Six - Bargains in Blood_**

"Call Mr. Sark and report," Irina commanded. "And do it from another room." 

Diego's eyes narrowed with hatred. He opened his mouth - possibly to argue - and then made the mistake of looking Irina in the eyes. He blanched and obeyed without another word. 

But as he left he smirked at his partner, who swallowed hard. _He knows. And he's going to tell Sark._

For her part, Irina strolled swiftly over to the captive and undid the gag, allowing him to choke in large gulps of air and wretch out the blood in his mouth. With surprising gentleness she also released the top strap pinning his wounded back to the chair. He immediately leaned forward, breaths coming in uncontrollable wheezes, body shaking from coughs. 

"I expected more from you, Agent Vaughn," she heard the other woman say. "Much more. What are you doing here?" 

Her eyebrows shot up. The CIA agent and the terrorist _knew_ each other? 

-- 

"You know what this is," Jack said. They stood in the CIA Safehouse in Madrid, Sark all but preening as astonished agents stopped in their tracks at the sight of the terrorist. 

Sark sighed. "Agent Bristow, surely you know as well as I that I will doubtlessly be scanned for every available bug on arrival? Even implanted ones." 

"This is a biological agent," Jack responded, matching Sark's debonair tone with one of his own. "It will give us your location and, via satellite, allow us to listen in. It is completely undetectable." 

"Even so - " 

"This is not a debate. You will either accept this as part of our agreement or negotiate yourself into prison. Whatever you choose. I don't presume to speak for you." 

Sark inclined his head, a mixture of amusement and condescension on his face. "Very well," he said drolly. 

-- 

Vaughn closed his eyes, fighting to pull himself together. If it was anyone else he wouldn't have cared… but the last thing he wanted to do was appear weak in front of his father's murderer. 

"You were working with Sark," he managed to say, scarcely above a whisper and sounding as though someone had run over his vocal cords with a truck. Twice. 

"Sark was working for me," she corrected. She raised an eyebrow, bending down to be at his eye level. "I understand he's working for you, as well?" 

He stiffened, partly because he would never answer her and partly because the other guard chose that moment to step forward. 

"What - " the blonde started. 

Irina didn't turn. "Go help your partner and keep an eye out for Sark," she ordered. 

She hesitated, but nodded and turned on her heel to leave. Before doing so, she captured Vaughn's gaze and he frowned at the look in her green eyes. Disappointment? Disbelief? 

His eyes narrowed. Diego had made it very clear she had been helping him. Why? 

_Who are you?_

His only response was a faint smile before she turned and left the room. 

-- 

"Hello?" 

Sark took a deep breath. "May I speak with your husband, please?" 

"Yes," Emily answered. There was a pause. 

"Hello, Mr. Sark," Sloane greeted. 

"Hello, Mr. Sloane," Sark said awkwardly. 

"I knew you'd call," Sloane informed him. "You're sooner than I expected, actually." 

Sark clutched the phone tighter, infuriated at the man's smugness. "I wanted to apologize," he forced himself to say. "My… grief blinded to the open possibilities." 

"Understandable," Sloane said, voice still warm. 

"Thank you, sir," he ground out. "I… I am calling to request a continuation of our partnership." 

Sloane sighed. "Mr. Sark, nothing would please me greater. But surely a talented young man as yourself knows I will have difficulty granting you the same trust you had before." 

"Yes," Sark said carefully. "But, sir, I have a way to prove my loyalty to you." 

"Oh?" Sloane's interest was undeniably piqued. 

"Meet me at the warehouse in one hour," Sark requested. 

"And come alone?" 

"No," Sark said. "Bring as much security as you'd like. I daresay they will come in handy for transportation of my… peace offering. If you will." 

"In that case, see you in an hour," the man that had arranged the death of the woman he loved replied. 

-- 

"You didn't think this through. This was reckless, Mr. Vaughn." 

Vaughn somehow found the strength to stare at her, his expression clearly asking why she cared. 

"I'm here to ensure you don't die," Irina told him bluntly. "Everything else is none of your concern." 

-- 

Sark sat on top of his car hood, watching as Sloane's dark car headed towards him. The two guards watched him from the doorway, both nervous for different reasons. Their younger boss had yet to say two words to them, or Irina Derevko. Instead, he appeared deep in thought and very alone. 

And then Sloane arrived and the two men exchanged words. Diego threw the woman a smirk as they headed toward them. Her heart stopped in her chest. Carefully, she slipped out of view. She'd return later, after gauging how much damage control she'd have to do. 

-- 

"S_eñors_ - " Diego said nervously as the two men approached the entrance to the warehouse. 

"English." 

"There is - are - facts missing," he said, struggling over the English words. 

"Yes?" Sloane, too, didn't bother to hide his impatience. 

"It regards the woman." 

-- 

She pulled out a stet phone out and dialed, gravitating between anger and resignation. 

"Yes," she said when they answered. "I've been - " 

-- 

They glanced at him questioningly, but kept walking. 

-- 

_They didn't listen. I'm still in the clear._

"Apologies," she stammered awkwardly into the phone. "My mistake. Stet." 

And then she hung up. 

-- 

"In here," Sark directed, guiding Sloane to the room where Vaughn was held. His eyebrows rose at the same time Irina rose from from her conspirative crouch by the agent's side. "Irina." 

"Sark, Arvin," she greeted. "I've been waiting. Thank you for your help." 

"You're welcome," Sloane answered, pleased to see her. His gaze ticked behind his old ally. "Hello again, Mr. Vaughn. What a surprise to see you again." 

Showtime. Vaughn struggled to control his still uneven breathing to answer the man, but with no success. _Come on, Mike_, he urged himself. Still no luck. Had he damaged a lung? 

"My apologies, Mr. Sloane," Sark covered at last, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "I had ordered that they retake him unharmed, but clearly that was too much for them to understand," he directed the last bit at Diego and his just-arrived second staff member. Both dropped their eyes. 

"Mmmm." Sloane inclined his head, gaze calculating. While he was preoccupied, Sark and Irina exchanged one of their own. 

"Am I to understand, Mr. Sark, that Mr. Vaughn is your referenced peace offering?" 

"Yes," Sark answered lamely. Even Vaughn, currently losing the fight to stay conscious from blood loss, could sense Sloane's unbelieving amusement. 

The former head of SD-6 actually laughed. "You're overestimating his value, Mr. Sark," he chuckled. "I ordered his execution long ago, a decision you hardly objected to." 

"But that is the reason why I ordered him spared," Sark argued. "It shows my willingness to act in interests not my own, for which I fully apologize doing earlier." 

Irina nodded approvingly at him. 

"Interesting," Sloane mused. He glanced at her. "What do you think?" 

She shrugged, expression suggesting she cared little either way. "To manipulate my daughter, you need more than just hearsay and rhetoric, Arvin," she surmised. "My daughter cares for this man. Allowing him to live might be to your advantage." 

"Your actions with Allison Doren ensured the end of Sydney's concern for Mr. Vaughn," he reminded. 

And there it was. His last chance. "What actions?" Vaughn managed to ask, voice still stripped dry from screams and oxygen difficulties. Silence. His laborious voice had no power in it, had Sloane even heard him? 

"Ah, yes," Sark amplified, covering for him the second time that day. "You would not have known about that, Mr. Vaughn." He gave Irina mini-bow. "In the time since your escape and subsequent recapture, Ms. Derevko successfully integrated herself into your team of would-be rescuers. In doing so, she was able to take possession of one of your service pistols." 

"A lovely weapon, Mr. Vaughn," Irina purred. "Well kept." 

"You killed someone with my gun," Vaughn choked out. It was easy to sound horrified, all he had to do was remember Sydney's anguished devastation. "And you framed me for it." 

"Well done," Sloane applauded. "Her other little friend Francie, in fact. You see, Mr. Vaughn, by pinning the death on you, we insure that Sydney cares little for the fact that you disappear from her life. She was arrested because of you - Irina told me all about your little hiccup - and now she's mourning because of you. If anything, her desire for vengeance over you will make her more useful to us." 

Vaughn's brow furrowed. Why was Sloane insisting Sydney's friend died, instead of Doren? 

And then he noticed the slight gesture Sloane made to Diego. The guard was all too eager to load his gun, which he had emptied to ensure he didn't mistake it for the tranquilizer when he had recaptured the prisoner earlier. 

Vaughn swallowed hard. Could he really have failed? 

Irina inclined her head, the sparkling earrings catching his attention. The look in her eyes… she was trying to tell him something… 

_It's a test_, Vaughn realized, elated. _If he was going to kill me, he'd tell me the truth._

So he didn't look at Diego when when the guard loudly cocked his gun, instead searching out Sloane's gaze. "Your logic is circular," he said, as casually as he would if he had run into someone he knew while jogging and struck up a conversation. "It won't work." 

Sloane beamed at him, the look of fatherly pride well remembered from his day of forced mission planning for Sydney. "Is it?" 

"You are dependent on Sydney reacting this way because of me," he reasoned. "You think she will return here for revenge on me. Obviously, if she doesn't… have that option, she will be… harder to manipulate." 

Sloane crossed his arms thoughtfully, leaning against the table. "I have heard many pleas for mercy in my time, Mr. Vaughn," he informed him. 

"The day I beg you for anything is the day you're about to kill yourself," Vaughn snapped back. He groaned inwardly when his head caught up with him. _Way to earn his trust, idiot!_

But Sloane nodded. "Good," he replied. Sark and Irina exchanged another glance. "I refuse to deal with cowards, Mr. Vaughn. Please forgive me that final test." 

If he hadn't already been having trouble breathing, Vaughn was certain he would have started having problems right there. 

"Sir - " Diego protested, glaring murderously at Vaughn. 

Sloane ignored him. "Mr. Vaughn, what are your motives?" 

Vaughn frowned. "Pardon?" 

"Why would you be willing to cooperate with me?" 

Vaughn hesitated. Sloane again gestured to the steaming Deigo, clearing the shot. "You heard me, _Michel_. Why? 

Vaughn looked him in the eyes. "Sydney," he answered, with quiet truthfulness. "If she thinks I killed someone she loved, that hurts her. Whatever hurts her hurts me. I want my name cleared, Mr. Sloane, and if that means I have to work with you than so be it. I'll do anything for her. _Anything_." What was sobering, Vaughn decided, was that he meant every word. 

Sloane nodded again, glancing over to an emotionless Sark and Irina. All three of them knew the weakness Sydney and her agent love had for each other… and Vaughn, who had yet to breathe normally or even sit up straight, was clearly not in any condition to attempt escape if he planned to betray, anyway. 

"Then I need insurance, Mr. Vaughn. Otherwise, the patriotism inbred in idealistic agents such as yourself will always win." 

"What do you need?" 

Sloane shrugged. "Kill a guard for me. They obviously cared little for you." 

Vaughn's eyes widened. Sloane held out a hand to Sark, who withdrew his revolver from inside his jacket and gave it to him. Sloane then stepped over and released the bindings on Vaughn's left arm and wrist, handing him the gun. 

"I'll make it easy, I'll even choose. Kill the woman for me." 

**- to be continued -**

I know, I know! I'm sorry! 

And once again, I must promise review responses next time. School and work are awful, man. 

But on the bright side, it's shorter wait for the next chapter. ;) See you Friday!****


	39. Desperate Choices

**_Chapter Thirty Seven - Desperate Choices_**

Sydney couldn't cry. 

It was ridiculous, she decided. She'd been through so much. She _needed_ to cry. She needed to expel that energy. But she couldn't. 

Was she numb? That in itself was hardly a strange emotion to her. In fact, sometimes she deliberately refused to feel emotion. It was helpful. It was familiar. It was a Bristow trait. 

But it was an emotion she had never before experienced when it came to Michael Vaughn. 

He was in many ways her antithesis; her bright light in an otherwise grim existence. When everything else went to hell, _one_ flash of his dimples or _one_ scent of his cologne was enough for her to realize that there was still hope. He was her hope. 

When she was around him, she lost all her Bristow traits. When she was around him, she was just Sydney, the woman he adored above all else. His adoration made her feel beautiful, and she loved him so much in return it often frightened her. 

But right now, she was numb. 

She sat in a conference room with her father, Kendall, Weiss, Elsa and NSA Deputy Director Brandon, listening intently to the transmitter implanted in the side of Sark's neck. 

By all accounts, things were not going well. Vaughn's uneven breathing was clearly audible. 

Hence her numbness. 

Weiss shifted in his seat, expression changing from rage to worry and back again. Any anger he had felt towards Vaughn's recklessness was clearly replaced by his raw hatred of Sloane for caring so little about his best friend. She envied him that. At least he could _feel_. 

Her father sat across from her, arms folded on the table. He had known Vaughn's plan, had even helped develop it. She had at first lashed out at him, but he had brought her down to earth. As usual. 

_I can't believe you! You knew! You knew what he was going to do!_

_I did. But Sydney, it was ultimately his decision._

_If he never comes back, it will be _your_ fault! You didn't stop him! Dad, why didn't you _stop_ him?_

He had looked at her, an odd measure of pity and exasperation in his eyes. 

_He has other reasons, but he is mainly doing this for you, Sydney. He wants Sloane out of your existence. And so do I. If your life is bought with his, so be it. It was his decision to make, not mine._

He hesitated. 

_If it makes any difference… he earned my respect for that. _

And now, she was numb. 

No, not numb. She sat up straight at the realization. She wasn't numb. If she was numb, she wouldn't have a cold knot in her gut. 

She, Sydney Bristow, the quintessential independent woman, was _terrified_. Beyond measure. Beyond words. Beyond emotion. 

It was a thin line between love and hate, but it was also a thin line between love and protectiveness. For Vaughn, that meant enduring hell so she wouldn't have to. 

And that was the most terrifying thing of all. 

Maybe it would have been better if she _had_ been numb. 

"I need some air," she said briskly, rising. No one batted an eye. With a grace she didn't feel, Sydney rose and left. 

"Excuse me!" Marshall called quickly the second he saw her, darting down the hallway. "Excuse me! Ms. Bristow!" 

She froze, chilled. Had something gone wrong? Marshall skidded to halt in front of her, jacket hanging open and glasses fogged over from his run. 

"Marshall? What's wrong?" 

"I… um… I…" he hesitated for a moment. "I…" 

"Marshall?" 

He shrugged, nervousness causing his eyes to enlarge further behind his glasses. And then he leaned over and enveloped her in a hug, one so tight and unexpected that she fell against him at first, an _ooomph!_ escaping her. 

And then she realized that it felt quite nice. Soothing, even. 

"I… uh, I know you're busy," he stammered against her shoulder. "But I watched uh, everything - not that I was eavesdropping," he added swiftly, "but I work here. And um, I know that some things have been bad - not that you can't handle that, because of course you can, you're very talented - " 

She smiled at his genuine flattery, her first genuine smile in days. 

" - but I thought I'd try to help," he said. He stopped to take a breath. "Actually, I was researching - uh, not here," he railroaded hastily, " - and it said music was helpful, but we can't get a band in here and I didn't know what music you like - uh, even though I'm sure it's very good. So then I found something that said hugs can be nice, so I - " still holding her, he shrugged against her, "… I thought I'd try that. Uh, hugs." 

She grinned again, pulling away from him gently. 

"Oh," he said, concern coloring his words. "I made you cry!" 

She laughed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's okay." 

And it was. For the first time in a long time, it was. 

He shook his head, hand frantically searching his pockets. "Here," he said triumphantly, holding up a handkerchief. And then he looked down. "Oh. It's only slightly used." 

She laughed again. Dimples showing, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. 

"You're sweet," she told him, meaning it. "Thank you." 

Cheeks red, he nodded. With a wave, she turned and opened the door to the conference room. 

And Marshall stood alone, handkerchief in hand. 

"Sweet," he repeated, grinning. "I'm sweet." 

His grin remained for the rest of the day. 

* * *

Vaughn sat up straight in shock, too stunned to notice the pain that caused. "I want to clear my name of murder, not commit one!" His jilted breathing sped up and he automatically doubled over again, lacking the strength to stay upright. The cursed gun remained instinctively in his hand. It was a miracle in itself he was able to hold onto it. 

Meanwhile the woman marked for death stood tall and proud in front of them all, no fear in her slight frame. 

"Killing a person that so obviously tormented you can hardly be the same as the cold-blooded way Ms. Calfo died," Sloane replied, still leaning lazily against the side of the table. "You _asked_ to work with me, Mr. Vaughn, and I do believe your reason why to be genuine. Had I not, you would have died in that bank. But I need to know you will not revert to standard agent prototype the moment you are able. You firing that gun will answer that question." 

Horrified, Vaughn scanned the room, trying to come up with something, _anything_, that would save him from following Sloane's orders. 

"Truth takes time, Agent Vaughn," Irina said, voice quiet. She, along with Sark, had retreated to the opposite side of the table to clear his line of fire. 

What an odd thing to say. He scanned them, frowning. Whereas Sloane was almost jovial, both of their faces were studiously blank. Answers all in themselves. He shifted the gun in his weak, one-handed grip, paused to look down at it. The truth began to dawn. One undeniable observation became obvious. 

"One would think that a government agent wouldn't have such an aversion to firing a gun," Sark drawled. 

_Was that a hint?_

"Indeed," Vaughn murmured, heart clenching. If he was wrong… 

If he was wrong, he certainly wouldn't be the one grieving. 

_I love you, Sydney. I'll always love you._

With one final glance at the three terrorists, the steaming Diego, and his proud target, Vaughn did the only thing he could do. He reversed his one-handed grip on the gun, aiming it squarely at himself. 

And then he pulled the trigger. 

**- to be continued -**

One of these days, I swear I will have time for review responses! I swear! 

I do want to give a huge shoutout to all of you new readers, return reviewers and especially my loyal, every-chapter reviewers… you guys are the reason why I love writing. Thank you! I love each and every one of you. 

That said, I have a challenge for you. Around 457 readers stopped by my last chapter alone… and I think 15 or so reviewed. If you stop by, **review!** It'll take you two seconds, and it so makes my day… 


	40. Revivals and Departures

**_Chapter Thirty Eight - Revivals and Departures_**

She wondered if it was possible to forget how to breathe. 

Elsa ducked her head, allowing her blonde hair to hang in her eyes as she fought to pull herself together. The cruelties that the terrorists were capable of… it alternately chilled and boiled her blood. 

And if _she_ felt this way, how could Sydney possibly not fall apart? 

Still hiding behind her hair in a room full of people that were technically her enemies, Elsa glanced at the young woman. Sydney sat tense and upright, hands knotted into fists underneath the table, jaw clenched and body ready for action. She had appeared noticeably more relaxed after stepping out for a moment, but Sloane's order and Vaughn's subsequent action had ended _that_. 

She understand that. God, she understood that. She had prayed desperately that news of her husband would surface. She had been convinced the bug in Sark would reveal _something_, that the young man would begin to right his wrongs. And she had been wrong. 

Neil had simply disappeared. Was that good? Did it mean he escaped? Or did it mean… did it mean that he…? 

No. She took a deep breath, twisting her wedding ring around her finger. No. Neil was coming home. Her little family would once more be whole. 

No matter what she had to do to make that happen. 

* * *

"Diane, I love you," Dixon said quietly. "I love you so much. And it killed me not to say anything!" He leaned forward, taking her hand. "I haven't slept well in all the years we've been married. I wanted to tell you… I hated myself for lying to you! But I didn't have a choice." 

She nodded. "Marcus…" 

He looked at her, love and hope shining in his eyes. Deliberately, she placed her other hand on top of his. "When you first told me the truth, I said I don't know who you _were_. I was wrong," she told him. "I just didn't know what you _did_. I have always known who you are." 

"Oh, Diane…" he choked. 

"Before I could accept what you did, Marcus, I had to understand it. I do now. I love you. Come home." 

As if on cue his pager sounded, ending their moment. Dixon looked at his wife sheepishly. 

"Go," she ordered. "I'll be here when you're finished saving the world." 

Grinning like a fool, he stood up and kissed her passionately. "I love you," he said again. 

"I love _you_," she replied fervently. 

* * *

The gun clicked, echoing around the room the same way a shot would have. 

If it had been loaded. 

With a sardonic smile, Vaughn tossed the shell of a weapon back to Sark, who caught it without batting an eye. Reaching into his jacket, the younger man reloaded the revolver and then replaced it in his shoulder holster. 

Sloane, meanwhile, applauded. The man was virtually beaming. 

"Well done," he congratulated, chuckling. "Well done. I promise that was the final test." He glanced over at the blonde, who was also standing with careless insolence in her stance, though Vaughn could see the terror and astonishment warring in her eyes. 

"You have my apologies," Sloane said to her. "I thought the test would have been skewed if my orders had been to kill someone Mr. Vaughn would not have thought twice about. You may have tortured him, but the agent is of European blood and would hesitate before shooting a woman." Diego held his gun tighter at _that._

Vaughn scowled inwardly as his breathing became more erratic. Wondering if his movements had damaged something further, he forced himself to sit upright, chin high. 

And then a stabbing pain ignited in his upper chest. Puzzled Vaughn looked down… and then sucked in a breath, horrified. 

The strap Irina had removed had been edged with metal on both sides. It was one of the reasons why they had been so painful… 

But the stress of the flogging and his later thrashing had apparently been enough to rub off a small piece of one side of the metal off the leather… and skewer him. No wonder he was having trouble breathing. At the moment the metal, unnoticeable against his dark blue (and red) shirt unless he looked for it, was doubtlessly puncturing a lung. And every move he made only embedded it farther. 

Sloane was talking. Trying desperately to sit as still as possible, Vaughn forced himself to focus. 

"So here's where we go from here," he said. "Irina, you have your duties with Caplan." 

She nodded. A spark of something clenched her jaw, but it was controlled and hidden once more in the blink of an eye. 

"And Mr. Vaughn, we have a room we can set up to allow you to recover a bit," Sloane added, while Vaughn's breathing hitched uncontrollably again. The room spun, his lack of oxygen making him dizzy. "After that, we'll talk further about what exactly you have to offer me." 

* * *

At those words, the conference room exploded into action. 

"It's a go," Kendall called out the door into the main room. 

That room exploded, too. 

* * *

Checking his watch, Sloane nodded to Diego. Vaughn gritted his teeth as the ever-present syringe made an appearance, though he knew it would probably be more painful if he was awake when they moved him. 

"Indulge me," Sloane said to him as the guard stepped toward him, needle ready. 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

"How did you know Mr. Sark's revolver was not loaded?" 

He managed a smile. The world was spinning even more crazily and even if Diego didn't sedate him, he knew he only had minutes before he finally passed out. 

"Had it been loaded, Mr. Sloane, it would have been too heavy for me to hold right now." 

* * *

She was not a demanding person. For the most part, anyway. But right now, she'd give away all she knew about national security for one hair tie. 

Sydney stood by the cargo plane, the gun her mother had used to kill Allison Doren strapped to her leg. Los Angeles, normally even as far as weather was concerned, had decided today to try out 40 mile-per-hour winds. She had never hated her hair so much. 

Her father stood by the pilot, deep in conversation. Doubtlessly one she should be having, though Jack had apparently determined her concern for Vaughn would cancel out any caution she had. Touching and maddening, all at the same time. 

And yet, admittingly, probably true. Vaughn had a frightening habit of ignoring any and all common sense warnings when she needed him. Why wouldn't it be the other way around? 

So for now, she leaned against the plane and envisioned the many ways all of them would pay for daring to hurt the man she loved. Footsteps snapped her out of those rather enjoyable thoughts, and she watched as her father approached with a stet phone in hand. 

He held it out. "Just as a precaution," he said. She nodded and took it, sliding it underneath her shirt. 

And then they just stood there. 

"Sydney - " Jack began. 

She looked up at him, hearing the alien catch in his voice. He cleared his throat. "Sydney," he said again. "Just…" he took a deep breath. "Be careful out there. Watch your back." 

"I will," she promised. "The next time you see me, Sloane will be in chains and Vaughn and I will walk off the plane together." 

He gave her a half-smile. "I'd hope you would have called me first." 

On impulse, she hugged him. After a moment, he returned it. 

"Take care of yourself," she told him, starting to pull away. 

He nodded. "Sydney?" 

She turned. 

"I… I'm very proud of you. And what you're doing here." 

Blinking back tears, she flung herself at him again. This time, there was no hesitation before he returned it. 

"I love you, Dad," she told him. 

"I love you, sweetheart," he replied.**

**

- to be continued - 

Have a bonus chapter! You guys went nuts with the reviews! I'm over 500! THANK YOU! (And a very special welcome to all the new readers!)   
-Jinnie 


	41. Rendezvous

**_Chapter Thirty Nine - Rendezvous_**

Emily sat in her kitchen, alone and scared, knuckles white from clutching the phone. Her husband had simply disappeared, for two straight days. But what could she do? She had known this day would come. His life was dangerous. Chances were very strong he was dead in an alley somewhere. 

She hadn't even been able to say goodbye. 

And then she heard a noise outside the Villa. Her eyes widened with hope. Could it be? Could he have cheated death, one more time? 

"Arvin?" she called, flying around, turning on lights. _Oh, please. Please. Please!_

And then he was there. Tears flowing freely she flung herself into his arms, showering him with kisses. 

"Where were you?" she cried. "I was so worried!" 

He held her close. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was at the hospital." 

She jerked away and stared at him. "_What?_" 

He pulled her to him again, his hands lightly holding either side of her face. "Emily…" 

"What's going on?" she demanded, lower lip trembling. 

Arvin sighed, genuine regret welling through him. "You wanted to know everything," he said. 

She nodded in his grip, looking up at him. Something cracked inside of him. She was so beautiful, so trusting… 

"Fine," he said. He pulled his phone out from his jacket, leaving his other hand on her cheek. "Bring him in," he ordered. 

"Him?" Emily asked. 

"Sir?" Sark hesitated. 

"It's all right," Sloane assured him, eyes locked with his wife's. 

From outside their house came the unmistakable sound of a heavy vehicle. Emily frowned, tried to look, but Sloane shook his head. "In a moment, sweetheart." 

And then she froze, jaw falling open, as two heavily armed people strolled in her front door wheeling a medical cot with oxygen and IVs attached. And lying on it, unconscious and restrained, was none other than the sweet young man she had saved. Another guard followed, wheeling in equipment that was linked to him via wires and tubes. 

"Arvin," she breathed, disbelieving. What was Michael doing here? 

Her husband swallowed hard, hating himself for the raw horror in her eyes. 

"Emily," he said. "I believe you at least know of the man Sydney is so entranced by. This is Michael Vaughn." 

She brought up a hand to cover her mouth. _Oh, God._

"I was at the hospital because Mr. Vaughn required more medical attention than any of us could give," he told her, not bothering to mince words. 

As though in a daze, she shrugged off her husband's hand and stumbled over to look down at the injured man. Still in a hospital gown and covered only up to the waist with a sheet-thin blanket, he looked more like a child than an intelligence operative. "Then why is he here and not still there?" she demanded, running a hand lightly through his hair. He didn't stir, and the oxygen tubes kept his breathing normal and steady. 

Arvin sighed and joined her. The other three guards stepped back and did their best to appear unobtrusive. "Because we could only keep his identity quiet for so long," he answered honestly. "When they started to question us, we were forced to remove him. They had just finished surgery for his punc - for one of his injuries. He was already sedated, Emily. He didn't suffer. We wheeled him onto an ambulance and made our way over here. It's all right." 

"What part of this is all right? You kidnapped him from the _hospital_! Right after he went through _surgery_!" What kind of monster had she married? And was she surprised? He had done far worse things than this. 

He didn't answer her, instead turning to the youngest of the guards and waiting expectedly. Michael chose that moment to shiver, automatically calling the attention of everyone in the room… as heavily drugged as he was, he had to be _really_ cold to actually react. 

Hurriedly, Emily flew into the neighboring living room and snatched up a folded blanket from the couch. With a look that no one dared to argue with, she released the restraints on his wrists that bound him to either side of the cot and then covered him gently up to his chin, tucking him in out of habit. If Sydney was her daughter in all but literal fact, this young man was the closest she had to a son. 

Her husband lowered his eyes as though ashamed, but gestured again. 

"Right," the blonde man said, nodding pointedly to the other two guards. 

"Your pardon, Mrs. Sloane," the woman murmured, gently nudging her out of the way and grabbing the metal left side of the cot. The Spanish man took the other. 

Still dazed with shock, horror and a growing sense of resignation, Emily watched as they wheeled Michael and the equipment out of the room, heading towards the wine cellar. 

* * *

Re-finding the Villa was easy enough. 

Sydney stood on the roof of the main house, watching the Sloanes through the skylights of the main house. She'd gotten there as of all things, an ambulance pulled away. And had immediately set up shop to watch for guards before making her move. 

She sighed as she watched them argue directly beneath her. Vaughn's debrief had mentioned Emily, of course, but seeing her… 

_You lied to me_, she thought. _Oh God, Emily. You were the only one I trusted for so long, and you let me grieve you!_

Huddled near the skylight, she watched and waited for her moment. Subtlety be damned. When she was certain the coast was clear, she had every intention of landing right in the middle of them. 

Via a few well-placed bullets and the skylight she was hiding by. 

* * *

She was a woman of many talents. If she hadn't been, her line of work would have killed her long ago. But helping Diego lift and then carry a heavy metal cot bearing an adult man was not one of those talents. More than once on their trek down the stairs of the wine cellar, her younger boss had had to quickly balance the monitoring equipment he was carrying with one hand and grab onto the cot with the other. Otherwise the cot, the three of them and the agent would have ended up one broken mess on the floor. 

She was beyond thankful Agent Vaughn was heavily sedated and remained unconscious during that entire debacle. 

But finally, they reached the hidden room. With a groan she helped Diego, watching him carefully the whole time, lift the agent from the medical cot and set him down on the one already in the room. As injured as he was, he was heavier than he looked. 

Equipment perched dutifully, Mr. Sark vanished without a word. A few minutes later, Diego followed him. She was relieved at that, it would not have surprised her if he "accidentally" injured the agent further somehow. 

With the swiftness borne out of years of training, she studied the agent with a critical eye, making sure that none of his tubes and sensors had been jostled out of place during the move. After she finished that, she pulled cloth from her pocket and glanced over her shoulder nervously. 

_Coast is clear._

As gently as she could, she wrapped cloth around his each of his bandaged wrists before replacing the restraints Mrs. Sloane had removed and adjusting the blanket around them. Hopefully, the cloth would keep the heavy metal and velcro from rubbing into his skin. Finished, she leaned over and just studied the handsome spy, allowing herself to smile in relieved triumph at the sound of his even, painless breathing. 

Just a few hours before, when he couldn't breathe or walk and had collapsed on them while being led out of the warehouse, she had been certain she had failed and he was lost. It had been her that had convinced Sloane to bring him to a nearby hospital, tearfully playing the part of terrorized wife that had watched as her husband was roughed up by muggers. And when the doctors saw through those lies, it had been her that had convinced Sloane to bring him to the Villa. Sark had even helped, reasoning that Vaughn still had use. 

And now he was here, and she was going to do everything she could to make sure he lived through the next few days until the CIA tracked them down. 

Her breath tousled his hair and he frowned, eyes fluttering open as the surgical anesthesia began to wear off. Not wanting him to see her, she stepped back hurriedly. 

"Syd?" she heard him murmur. His eyes inexplicably stuck together and he scowled harder, fighting to come out of it. The monitors he was attached to began to beep faster and he jerked in surprise at the sound, moaning quietly as the movement aggravated his still-healing injuries. 

Glancing furtively over her shoulder again, she stepped back to his side and pressed him back down, as easily as though she was quieting a child. "Easy, you're safe," she soothed, upping the IV feed. "_Relâcher et dormir, Michel._" ("Relax and sleep, Michael.") 

Responding more to the familiarity of the words than anything else, Vaughn obeyed and stopped fighting her. She stayed a little longer, insuring that he wouldn't again wake up and try to move just yet, and then headed out. 

Only to be grabbed by the arm and slammed against the outer wall of the room. 

* * *

"Emily - " Arvin started quietly, trying to touch her shoulder. She pulled away, eyes flashing. 

"Just answer one question," she said, jaw clenched in revulsion. Not just for him, but for her own naïveté. 

He waited. 

"Will you hurt him?" she asked, breath catching at the thought. Her husband was hardly a good man, but he had limits. Didn't he? "Are you capable of further harming an innocent man?" 

"Do you want me to answer that, Emily? Or do you want me to lie?" 

She backed away from him, eyes huge. When he stepped closer, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him as if seeing him anew. 

"Who are you?" she whispered. 

He vaulted forward and scooped her into his arms, burying his head into her neck. When she protested and tried to move away, he only held her tighter. 

"Arvin! Let go of me!" 

"Listen to me, Emily," he beseeched her. "I love you. I have always loved you! And I know that what I'm doing seems wrong…" 

"_Seems?_" 

"But it's necessary." 

"How is any of this necessary?" she demanded. 

"Everything I do is to protect you!" he countered. "Everything, Emily! And if that means you outlive me and hate me for the rest of your life, so be it. Because you'll be alive. You'll be safe." 

She paused. He was looking up at her with tears in his eyes and as much as she hated herself for it, and him as well, she felt something that wasn't hatred. 

* * *

Enough waiting. 

Sydney stepped back, took a preparatory breath, and then fired. Four times. Underneath her, the astonished Sloanes jumped back - and then gaped as she jumped in gracefully, turning in midair to land on her feet, pulling Vaughn's gun free as she did so. 

With nary a glance at Emily she lashed out with a powerful scissor kick, dumping Sloane to the ground. Resting her boot against his neck, she aimed the gun at his head. 

And it all took seven seconds. 

* * *

"I knew it was you," Diego hissed into her face, all but spitting the words. His hand shifted from her arm to her throat, lifting her several inches off the floor. 

"I don't… know what you're talking about!" she gasped. 

He snorted, crushing her windpipe further. His accent made his words even more powerful with rage. "You were working with _him_. They didn't listen to me!" 

Still holding her, he lifted her away from the wall and slammed her back against it. She gasped, fighting to breathe. 

"You don't want to do this," she warned him helplessly. If she took action and someone else saw her… 

He smiled nastily up at her and choked her harder. 

A smile that swiftly turned into a silent scream as she brought her knee up in between his legs with all her strength. Astonished, he dropped her. 

She hit the ground hard, gasping and coughing as oxygen flooded back. "You're blinded by vengeance," she managed to throw at him as he doubled over in pain. "He is still useful to us! I'm doing my job! You'd do well to follow suit!" 

"Liar," he growled. "You little b - " 

"If I was lying, I could have let you leave him in the hospital instead of convincing Mr. Sloane to bring him here," she interrupted. "Watch yourself, Diego! What would our two managers say if they knew you attacked me for following their orders?" 

Her throat ached. Seething, she brought up a hand to rub at the bruise. "Bloody bastard!" she swore. "Bloody hell!" 

It was working, she noted in between gasps. He seemed to be considering her words… now that he hadn't the ability to do anything else. 

"Are you done?" she asked him icily. 

He groaned, rocking himself a little back and forth. Still infuriated - both at his forwardness and at her carelessness - she grabbed him by the arm and threw _him_ against the wall. 

"Well?" 

He nodded. 

"Good." 

Without looking at him, she picked up the gun she'd dropped in the scuffle, and headed out of the hidden room to where two chairs had been set up. 

Diego held the doors open for her. 

* * *

"Sydney - " Sloane wheezed. 

In response, she dug her boot harder into his throat. 

"He killed her," Sydney all but whispered, knowing that was somehow more eerie. "He killed her! Did he do it on your orders?" 

"Sydney!" Emily protested. 

She ignored her. Emily Sloane may have saved Vaughn's life, but she had lost her trust. "_Did he?_" she yelled. 

"No," Sloane wheezed out. "He did it on his own." 

Astonished at his audacity, she let him up. 

"We recaught him," Sloane informed her. "He wasn't working for me when he did those things." 

"Then who was he working for?" Sydney allowed vulnerability to enter her voice. "I _trusted_ him…" 

He sighed, coming over to lay a hand on her shoulder. Even Emily raised an eyebrow. "Sydney, I know this is hard for you. Know that I will help you sort this through." 

She nodded. "He killed her with this gun…" she mused, inwardly picturing shooting Sloane's hand off with it. 

"Would you like to see him?" 

She smiled. It was not a nice smile by any means. Suddenly, Sloane knew he was looking at Irina Derevko's daughter. 

"Why, yes. I would like that." 

* * *

Her heart was in her throat. 

The room was, for the most part, exactly as she remembered. As was the cot in the middle, except it currently had five times as many pillows than what she had been given. 

And lying on top of the cot and the pillows was a pale and sleeping Michael Vaughn, breathing with the help of oxygen tubes in his nose and chest, an IV needle in his arm and medical restraints on his wrists. 

She swallowed, ordering her heart to return to where it belonged. 

And go to sleep, because what she was about to do would surely break it. 

She stepped toward the injured, unconscious and helpless man she loved, the man that was in this room and this condition, because of his love for her. And she slapped him. 

Hard. 

**- to be continued -**

Review Responses

One of these days, man. But I did give you an 8 page chapter! That has to count for something! :hangs head: 

But, up next is fluff. Because I daresay Syd and Vaughn have earned it. ;) 

Welcome and thanks to new and old readers and reviewers! 


	42. Welcome Betrayal

**_Chapter Forty - Welcome Betrayal_**

"You called me?" 

At his voice, Weiss stood up awkwardly to face him. Dixon's eyes narrowed. The man's suit was rumpled and his features haggard, and he kept one hand on his phone. "Is everything all right, Agent Weiss?" 

Eric shook his head. 

"What's the problem?" Dixon prodded. 

Weiss sighed. "I know you're on forced personal leave. And I do respect that. But I need your help." 

"For?" 

* * *

He jerked awake, unable to hide a grimace from the pain his movements caused, and then turned his head towards her. For a moment, she saw genuine terror in his eyes - _who does he think I am?_ - but that faded as realization asserted itself, and the fear he had awoken with changed into an act. 

Voice rough and painful to hear, Vaughn struggled to focus on her. "Sydney?" 

She fought to hide a wince. His head lolled and his eyes fluttered, the constant IV drip and current weakened state enough to keep him docile while Sloane weighed how much trust to invest in him. It was truly an eerie moment of déjà vu. The last time she had seen him like this, he had flatlined on her… 

_Focus, Sydney._

"How could you?" she all but yelled, manifesting the rage she felt for Sloane at Vaughn. "How could you? I _trusted_ you and you…. you…" she allowed herself to deflate, sinking into a chair by his cot. "Francie was innocent! She had nothing to do with this! _How could you?_" 

"I…" he shook his head, trying to clear it. She hesitated, had she been too strong? Did he not realize, drugged as he was, that she was merely putting on a show? 

If she had hurt him just now, she would never forgive herself. 

Light laughter from behind her stole their attention. Sydney turned rapidly, cursing herself for letting her guard down. 

"I'll leave you two alone," Sloane said merrily. Any suspicions had vanished the second Sydney brutally struck the man that had once been her greatest weakness. "This room is soundproofed, dear Sydney. Remember that even traitors like him have their uses, but do enjoy yourself. I'll give you plenty of time." 

She had never felt so sick. 

And then he was gone, the two doors closing and sealing behind him. Immediately, she shot to Vaughn's side. 

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, resting her head over Vaughn's heart. "I'm so sorry!" 

In response, he winced. She closed her eyes, the inferno burning in her indescribable as she felt yet another bandage through the hospital gown, right underneath her head. 

"What happened there?" she asked, forcing herself to sound soothing. 

"Nothing," he replied, voice faint. "Don't worry about it." 

She glared at him. "Nothing?" 

"Nothing," he repeated. "Syd - " 

He trailed off, throat too dry to finish. She scanned the room, hope swelling when she saw a clear water bottle sitting by the left side of his cot. Reaching it in two strides, she picked it up to sniff. 

"Syd?" Vaughn's confusion came through loud and clear. Raising a hand at him to wait, she tipped her head back and tried a sip. 

Water. Clean, glorious, perfect-temperature water. She didn't know who had put it here, but God bless him. 

"Here," she murmured, returning to his side and holding it in place for him. Trusting her without thought, he drank greedily. 

"Better," he said when she pulled the water bottle away. His voice was still uneven from lack of use, but less painful-sounding. 

"Good," she replied. And then she kissed him, taking full advantage of the fact that his oxygen tubes meant they could stay that way for longer than usual. 

"Much better," he amended when they broke apart, a lazy smile on his face. 

She nodded, standing and absently checking the IV dosage. Considering Sloane's words before he left she doubted he would be poisoning Vaughn, but best to check anyway. 

"Syd?" 

She released the restraints on his arms, noting the cloth as something to puzzle out later, and then sank down beside him on the cot. She laid her head on his shoulder, taking special pains to not put any pressure on his back or interfere with anything hooked up to him. "Hmmm?" 

"Why were you apologizing?" 

"Because I hurt you," she whispered. "I'm sorry." 

He shook his head again, the movements tickling the top of hers. "Never," he said simply. 

Sydney smiled. For a moment, everything faded away until it was just her and the man she loved, safe and happy and all by themselves. When he finally lost his fight against the drugs and fell back asleep she relaxed even farther, listening to him breathe, her head burrowed underneath his chin. 

And then the door unsealed. Careful not to wake him up, she pulled herself upright. By the time the door opened she was sitting on the chair next to him, allowing the rage she felt at his condition to burn in her eyes. Whoever saw it would misinterpret it as anger _at_ Vaughn, not _for_ him. 

But instead of Sloane, a petite blonde woman strolled in, bandages in hand. She raised an eyebrow at her. 

"He's sleeping," she said unnecessarily, inclining her head towards Vaughn. Sydney nodded warily. The plan be damned if the woman hurt or even woke him. She would kill the guard with her bare hands first. 

"Odd for you to allow him to do," the woman continued. "Since you came here seeking vengeance." 

And it was. Sydney's body tensed. She'd have to drop the guard quickly before she alerted Sloane and then… 

What? 

Carry Vaughn somewhere? He clearly was in no condition to walk on his own, not with his injuries and the oxygen tubes. 

The guard laughed softly, shaking her head. "I don't understand him," she murmured. "Nor you. Are all CIA agents this transparent?" She paused, seeing the way Sydney was readying herself to take action. "Peace, Ms. Bristow. I won't hurt him. He would have died long ago if I didn't risk compromising my cover to help him." 

"Your cover?" Sydney frowned. The woman's accent, her disdain for the CIA… 

She sighed, offering a hand. "I'm on your side," she said. "Lauren Reed. NSC." 

* * *

"So what are you going to do now?" 

Arvin sighed, passing a weary hand over his eyes. He sat on his couch, head bowed in exhaustion and shame whilst his beautiful wife paced in front of him. 

"Tell me, Arvin. I'm curious! What do people like you do to captured spies? When the sun comes up, will you shoot him in our front yard?" 

"Emily, you're not being rational." 

"_I'm_ not being rational? _I'm not being rational?_ Does that mean you _are_? Because then I think I'd prefer my irrationality." 

He kept his voice even. "This is the man I am, Emily. This is my life. This is _our_ life. You wanted to know everything." 

"Don't treat me like a fool!" she exploded. "Stop telling me that the deception is over!" 

"I'm telling you the truth, Emily! I don't know what else you want me to say!" 

She looked at him, lip curling in disdain. 

"Truth," she mocked. "Good, well, that explains it all. I guess you and I are looking for the same thing!" 

"Emily - " 

"I love you, Arvin," she whispered, turning to leave. "God knows why, but I do. But I don't _like_ you." 

"Emily!" 

She paused, but didn't turn to face him. "I'm going to send someone to find Sydney so we can talk. And then I am going to go make sure Michael is comfortable." 

He nodded, not daring to argue with her. "And then?" 

But she was already gone. 

* * *

Sydney's jaw dropped. This woman outranked even her father. And Kendall. "What's a member of the NSC doing out in the field?" she asked warily. "I thought you were an advisory committee?" 

"We are," Lauren answered. "I'm on loan from the SIS." 

Sydney paused. The last British SIS member she had met had been when Cole invaded SD-6… 

"You're thinking about Toni," Lauren said. 

Sydney nodded. 

Lauren shook her head, raw grief in her eyes. "Toni was my partner. We were both ordered to learn about The Man however possible. She was sent to infiltrate Cole. I tried to reach The Man by a different method, entering SD-12 as a new recruit. It was assumed The Man would affiliate himself with at least one SD cell, and I was hardly the only agent to enter one. But when The Alliance died - " 

Sydney repressed a smile. 

" - I received new orders to infiltrate Sark's organization. Shortly afterwards, I received word that Derevko had surrendered." 

"And yet you're still here?" 

Lauren shrugged. "No one is more highly placed in a terrorist organization than I am right now. The NSC approached my superiors with the suggestion that I partner with them to bring down Sloane, an American Sark has been known to deal with. I agreed. It wasn't too horrible, at first. But then…" 

She hesitated and glanced behind her, at Vaughn. Her features softened and Sydney nodded in wordless understanding. The blonde had confidence bordering on arrogance, so the brief glimpse of the woman behind the act was mesmerizing. 

_She saved Vaughn's life, Sydney. That means she saved yours._

"Thank you," she said aloud, gesturing towards her still-sleeping boyfriend. Belatedly, she took Lauren's proffered hand. 

Surprise lit up her green eyes. "You're welcome," she replied, a genuine smile on her face. Sydney returned it. 

And then Vaughn stirred behind them. Both women immediately headed for his side, but he only had eyes for Sydney. 

"Did we wake you up?" she asked him tenderly, leaning to kiss him on the forehead. 

He rewarded her with a glimpse of his dimples, too exhausted to answer. Her wayward strand of her hair tickled his face and he automatically tried to raise a hand to bat it away. Lips pursed, Sydney foiled his efforts and caught him by the wrist, holding him still, lest he pull apart wounds on his back by moving. Vaughn's forehead wrinkled in indignation, but he hadn't the strength to fight her. 

Not that he ever did. Or ever would. 

"Sorry!" she giggled. He looked like a little boy. An adorable one. A hot-cute one. Unable to resist she carefully wrapped her arms around him in a light hug, lightly kissing him up his neck in a decidedly adult fashion. Both laughed when he shivered involuntarily, this time from something far different than cold. 

It was both frightening and exhilarating, how much she loved this man. 

And then Lauren stepped toward them, dropping the medical supplies on the chair. "Emily Sloane would like to see you," she said to Sydney. "That's why I came. I'm going to check some things, and then I'll join you." 

"Okay," she answered_._ Genuinely not caring that she had an audience, she kissed him again. To her credit, Lauren backed away and strode to the door to unlock it, keeping her back turned to grant them privacy. "I'll be back," she promised him. "Rest, Vaughn. I mean it. If you try to do anything else, I'll kick your ass." 

He nodded. "Be careful," he managed to warn her, hoarsely. 

She graced him with a full-dimpled grin. "Hey," she teased. "It's me." 

"Exactly," he muttered. 

And then Lauren opened the doors for her. She turned and gave Vaughn a wave before stepping through. 

* * *

"Michael was having delusions of grandeur," Weiss told Dixon shortly. "And he paid for it. Big time. He's not going to come back." 

Dixon waited, compassion in his eyes. "What do you need?" 

The younger agent looked right back at him. 

"I don't give a damn about what he's trying to accomplish. I want to go there and bring him home. Will you help me do that?" 

* * *

"So you're NSC." 

Lauren paused, stethoscope hanging from her neck as she raised an eyebrow at him. "And you were not awake for that conversation." 

"I wasn't," Vaughn agreed. "Syd - Agent Bristow told me." 

She frowned at that. "When?" 

He flushed. 

"Oh," she smiled. "Very nice distraction, Agent Vaughn." 

He didn't answer. Concerned, she looked up and sought out eye contact. "Is something the matter, Agent Vaughn? Are you in pain?" 

"You've saved my life more times than I know about," he said, voice going raspy again. "I think you can call me Michael." 

In response, she glanced closely at the IV distribution and then back at him. He was pale, and far more than he should be. _Men!_

Carefully she increased the feed more, scowling at him when he visibly relaxed. "You have to tell me when you need that, Agent Vaughn." 

"Michael," he corrected sleepily, eyes fluttering. The sedative/painkiller worked fast. 

She chuckled, trying to distract him as she replaced the cloth and restraints. He watched her through half-lidded eyes, but made no move to resist. Both understood it was necessary. "Agent Bristow doesn't call you that. It's not proper for me to do so. Don't you agree?" 

Silence. His breathing slowed quite dramatically. She sighed and stepped toward him, rubbing the edge of the stethoscope to warm it up and then resting it in place. "I need you for just a few more moments, all right?" 

"Mmmmm…." 

Thankfully, it took less than five minutes to insure that his breathing was right where it should be for right then. By the time she finished, he had fully drifted off. As silently as possible, she tiptoed for the door. 

"Thank you," he said, just as she left. His voice was so faint that she at first thought she'd imagined it. But when she turned back, green eyes met green. 

"You're welcome," she told him. "Now stop fighting the sedatives and sleep, or your girlfriend will go blimey on your arse." 

**- to be continued -**

**STATEMENT ON LAUREN REED**

Yes, you read right. The "infamous character that makes a cameo" is indeed a certain MsTake from the show. 

**But wait! Come back! There is no triangle, and this is solely a Sydney/Vaughn 'ship story. Period.**

I don't like Lauren, in case you were wondering. I run the anti thread, in fact. (1 week old and almost 80 members strong!) 

But it's not that I don't like **her**. 7 seconds of screentime is hardly enough to judge that. In fact, if she wasn't a **contrivance**, I might even be interested in her! 

So the Lauren in _Presages_ is, pretty much, the Lauren I wish JJ would have used. There will be no Syd/Vaughn/Lauren triangle, and certainly no rings! I swear! Don't leave me! 

That is all. 


	43. Familial Bonding

**_Chapter Forty One - Familial Bonding_**

"You wanted to talk to me?" 

She stood in the Villa's garden, still fighting disbelief at the sight of the woman alive and well and sitting on a wooden bench in front of her. 

"Sydney." Emily swallowed, nervousness apparent. She patted the bench. "Join me?" 

"I'll stand." 

"Sydney - " 

"I spoke at your funeral," she blurted. _I grieved you. I cried for you._

"Arvin told me." _I'm sorry, Sydney. I'm so sorry._

Wordlessly, Sydney joined her on the bench while her escort/guard hovered in the back. They watched the sun come up in utter silence. 

"I never wanted to put you through that, but Arvin and I had no choice," Emily whispered as light finished bathing the garden. "The Alliance had to believe I was dead." 

"You knew about his involvement with the Alliance and you stayed with him?" 

"I know this is difficult for you to understand, but when I found out I had cancer, Arvin was my tether to hope; to survival. And when I went into remission, he told me the truth. He asked for my forgiveness and promised he would make things right. He's been my whole world for thirty years… he saved my life. I couldn't deny my husband a second chance." 

"Except nothing's changed. I'm assuming that's why you're here," Sydney didn't bother to refrain from rolling her eyes. _I trusted you, Emily._

"He told me his plan; to find out what this man Rambaldi was working on. He rationalizes what he's done. He says he's doing it for us, for me." 

"And you believed that." 

"I _did_," she murmured. "But I don't now." 

* * *

"Agent Weiss - " 

"I know it's insane," Eric said shortly. "I know it might get _me_ in trouble with counter-intelligence. But I don't care." 

Dixon grabbed the younger man by the shoulders, peering into his eyes. "Look. I know you're worried. I am, too. But if you go over there, kid, you might make things worse!" 

Weiss started at him incredulously. "How could things be _worse_? He couldn't breathe!" 

"He could be dead," Dixon answered, not bothering to mince words. "And if you go over there and interfere with what he's doing without authorization, you could kill both of them." 

* * *

"What do you mean?" 

Emily shook her head, leaning over to cup Sydney's face. She didn't pull away. 

"I don't know who he is anymore," she choked. "He is the man I love… but he's a man I would hate if I didn't love him." 

"And that frightens you," Sydney said. She understood more than Emily probably realized. Irina Derevko was manipulative, cold, merciless and distant. 

But she was still her mother. 

Emily smiled. "I'm so proud of you," she told her. "So proud. You have a life. You have a man you love, and that loves you. You're going to be fine. I just… I guess I wanted to tell you that." 

The guard behind them stiffened. Sydney took a deep breath. The words meant more than she could ever say. 

But they could also kill them both. 

"You're wrong," she replied. "Vaughn, he - " 

"He'll be fine," Emily assured her. 

"No," Sydney forced herself to say, for the guard's benefit. "He won't be. He killed my friend, Emily. I came here to make sure he pays for that." 

* * *

Weiss ripped himself out of Dixon's very father-like grip, sinking down into his chair. After a moment, Dixon perched himself on the desk. 

"Have you spoken to Jack?" 

"Yeah," Weiss mumbled. "He told me I was being impetuous and ignoring logic. 'We need that weapon, Agent Weiss. It's dangerous, Agent Weiss. We need to know where Derevko is before we take Sloane, Agent Weiss. And other crap.'" 

The recitation was so deadpan that Dixon couldn't help but grin. "Where is he now?" 

Weiss shrugged. "Kendall got a phone call and waved for Jack to join him. Haven't seen him since." 

* * *

With lazy grace, Diego keyed open the door to the hidden room, glancing over his shoulder to insure that Mrs. Sloane was behind him. The two doors opened swiftly, granting him entrance to the clinical-smelling room. 

His brother's murderer still lay strapped to a cot, fast asleep. Tubes helped him breathe, sensors monitored his every heartbeat, and the IV in his arm controlled when he was allowed to awaken. With amused pleasure Diego headed towards the agent, turned down the constant sedative, and shook him _hard_ by the shoulder. 

"_Despierte_," he ordered, while the other man gasped in startled pain. ("Wake up.") 

Vaughn forced himself to open his eyes, heart racing as he met the guard's sadistic smile - a smile that widened when his monitor betrayed him and beeped faster. 

"That's enough," Emily ordered sharply from behind him. Both men straightened at her tone. "I can take it from here." 

"Mrs. Sloane - " Diego hedged, remembering to use English. "It's not safe - " 

"- to be alone with the very dangerous prisoner?" Emily's scorn was thick enough to cut through steel. "Because he certainly _looks_ like he'd jump off the cot he's _tied_ to and attack me. What would I ever do without you to protect me?" 

To his credit the man obeyed, shooting a hateful look at Vaughn as he left. Vaughn groaned inwardly. _Great. Exactly what I needed._

For her part, Emily approached with almost awkward grace, looking down at him nervously. "Are you all right?" 

He hesitated, weighing his response. The question was either ridiculously ludicrous or ridiculously innocent. 

Either way, it meant Emily Sloane. 

"I'm fine," he answered lamely. 

She laughed. It was the sound of tinkling bells, and so out of place that he couldn't help but smile back. 

"I didn't mean overall, Michael," she stopped. "Can I call you that?" 

He nodded. 

"I meant… just now… he didn't make you rip any wounds, did he?" 

"Oh," he answered, eyes widening. That hadn't even occurred to him. "I don't think so." 

She rested a hand on his shoulder, sinking down on the chair beside him. "I'm going to have someone come and take a look, just to be safe. You'll have to have your bandages changed eventually, anyway." 

"Okay," he answered slowly when she stopped, wondering if she was waiting for a reply. 

She shook her head. "What are you doing here? I let you go!" she touched one of his restraints, pulling away swiftly in distaste. "I sent you home! Why are you here? Who did this to you? Talk to me!" 

He opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. "I talked to Sydney. She can do many things, Michael, but I have grown to learn when I am being lied to. She's up to something, and so are you." 

* * *

He was waiting for her at his kitchen table, of all things. Wearing glasses and skimming a newspaper, with slippers and casual clothes, he looked for all the world like a grandfather relaxing after just waking up. 

"Good morning," she forced herself to say. 

Arvin Sloane lowered his paper, flashing her a smile. "Good morning, dear Sydney," he answered warmly, waving her guard away. "Did you and Mr. Vaughn come to an understanding?" 

"Something like that," she replied. 

He waved her into a chair, folding the paper neatly into squares. "I am sorry you had to talk to him. I promise you that once we learn all we need to know, you won't ever have to see him again." 

She smiled. "Can't wait." 

He chuckled. "Of course, that depends on the condition you left him in when you were finished coming to an understanding." 

"Unconscious," Sydney mused truthfully. He had _better_ be, anyway. If he wasn't resting, she really would return and _make_ him. 

"Just unconscious?" his chuckles grew. She smiled at him again, unsure of what to say. 

"Listen, Sydney," Sloane said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. "I know you want to know why everyone seemingly turned their backs on you. And whatever I can do to help, I will. But first, you must do something for me." 

"What's that?" she fought to keep her tone neutral. 

"The Rambaldi book," he said mildly. "The CIA has it. Agent Vaughn can be made to tell us how to get to it. Get that book for me, Sydney, and I will help you however I can." 

* * *

"Listen. I understand what you're saying - " 

"Clearly you don't, Director Kendall. You don't need to 'understand' what I'm saying. _You _answer to _me_." 

Kendall groaned inaudibly, passing a hand over his eyes. He sat with Jack Bristow in a conference room, speaking to a man via speaker phone that he wouldn't have wished on his worst enemy. 

"Of course, Director Lindsay," Jack spoke up, somehow sounding soothing and mocking at the same time. 

"We're just a little thrown about this," Kendall clarified. "You _are_ telling us to end a potentially successful and fully sanctioned taskforce mission without any reason at all." 

"My orders are enough of a reason," the man snapped. "But I'll humor you. _Your_ mission is jeopardizing _ours_. We have an SIS member working directly for the NSC over there, and this haphazard and foolhardy idea will _kill_ her." 

"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow. 

"My orders are simple, Direct Kendall. Pull out your agents or cut them loose, whichever can be handled with the most subtlety. Ms. Reed will accomplish your objective for you, anyway." 

* * *

"I - " 

She leaned closer to him. "You can talk to me," she urged. "I swear it will stay in this room." 

"Mrs. Sloane - " 

"Emily, Michael." 

"Emily, I - " he sighed. "Do you really want to do this?" 

"My husband lied to me for years," she replied. "It's about time I returned the favor. It's all right, Michael. Tell me." 

He hedged, mind tracking wildly. He trusted Emily - but he knew first-hand that logic meant little when talking to Arvin Sloane's wife. 

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, hating himself for how her face fell. "But I have no idea what you're talking about." 

**- to be continued -**

Erm, yeah. I'm a spaz. I could've sworn I updated this like a week ago, but it apparently didn't go through. So sorry! 

But hey, in consolation, you get two chapters! This one AND today's update. ;) So click ahead to the next chapter and enjoy!****


	44. God Bless Drugs

**_Chapter Forty Two - God Bless Drugs_**

"I beg your pardon?" Kendall's eyes narrowed. 

"And we're back to this," was Lindsay's impatient response. "I am informing you both as a courtesy! I could just as easily issue an order that abandons them." 

"Us pulling them out seems to be what you want, then," Jack shot back. "Wouldn't that action risk compromising Ms. Reed's identity even more so than just having them continue their current course of action?" 

"Agent Bristow, you're out of line!" 

"What are you really after, Lindsay?" Jack challenged, not even hearing the admonishment. 

"You don't have any authority to - " 

"Because it looks like you _want _them to die. Wouldn't that help your mission? Have us attempt a rescue and then have Ms. Reed prove her loyalty to Arvin Sloane by killing at least one of them in the process?" 

Kendall paused, utterly lost. "Jack, we _would_ be pulling out your daughter. Don't you want that?" 

Jack paused. "No," he said at length. "No, I do not." 

* * *

"Did he give you any trouble?" 

Emily's doctor-for-hire shook his head. Sydney, standing just out of sight of the two men, listened intently. "No. I insured cooperation by cutting off the IV flow. The faster he allowed me to change bandages and examine him, the sooner I'd consider enabling his painkiller." The man shrugged modestly. "Even_ with_ the drugs it would probably have been painful, but _without_ them…" he shrugged again. "Seemed to work." 

Sloane smiled, pulling himself upright. "Excellent. Mr. Sark will see to your payment, as discussed." 

He nodded and left. Sydney stood frozen, horrified. Doing nothing had been fine while she was on the other side of the world, but she had been one floor above him when he'd been deliberately tortured! 

_You'll pay for this_, she fumed, pasting a smile on her face as she rounded the corner to join him. _Slowly._

"Good morning," she said to him. 

If he was suspicious she had been listening, he didn't show it. "I'm going to go see where Mr. Sark vanished off to," Sloane told her, stepping over to squeeze her shoulder in greeting. "Head down to the cellar and wait for us. We'll join you shortly and then go in together." 

"Okay," she said, smile still pasted on. 

When he turned and left, she almost fell over herself with urgency as she headed downstairs. 

* * *

Sark stood alone in one corner of the yard, leaning against a tree, eyes closed. It was already a beautiful day, but he didn't feel it. 

Instead, he was numb. 

He harbored no delusions of the life he lived, of course. Allison had not been an innocent victim of circumstance, nor had she been undeserving of her fate. 

It was one of the many reasons why he had genuinely felt for her. Loved her, even. They had understood each other, had grounded each other to facets of life the naïve would consider normal. 

She had been his innocence _and_ his cruelty. The one person who made him like any other twenty-something, and then reminded him that he was certainly _not_. 

And now she was gone. His lip curled, equally disgusted with himself for his reaction and surprised he hadn't reacted more. 

"Mr. Sark?" 

He whirled with silent grace, very aware of the still-active listening device in his neck. 

"Mr. Sloane." 

The other man frowned at him. "Is everything all right?" 

He nodded. _It will be, when you realize I betrayed you._ "Everything is fine," he answered. Hands in his pockets, he inclined his head toward the house. "Are we ready to begin?" 

"Yes. Sydney is already waiting downstairs." 

"Oh?" 

"I sent her," Sloane dismissed. He glanced over at Sark, gaze piercing. "This is a test, Mr. Sark. She doesn't know the doctor was so cruel. When she sees him, I'm going to tell her it was you." 

He raised an eyebrow. _And watch her kill me?_ "Why?" 

"Because I want to see where her loyalties are," Sloane replied. "And where her concern lies. If she displays any consideration at all for Mr. Vaughn, or any unhappiness at you, we'll know she is not truly with us. As for Michael Vaughn himself… if the boy really does want to prove himself to Sydney as claimed, he will go along with whatever we say in the interim." 

"Indeed." 

"But if either one shows signs of disloyalty, I expect you to take care of both of them. Without Emily knowing." 

Inside his pockets, Sark's hands clenched into fists. He was _no one's_ lackey. 

"Of course, sir." 

* * *

"Jack?" Kendall's jaw dropped. 

"Pulling her out would put her in more danger than leaving her," Jack said bluntly. "It's not worth the risk. And it could very well compromise the weapons deal we just made with Sark." 

Kendall's mouth worked a few times before he remembered how to talk. "When the _hell_ did we switch places?" 

Jack ignored him. "Agent Weiss has made no secret of his desire to rescue Agent Vaughn." He glanced again toward the phone. "I propose a compromise, Director Lindsay." 

"That being?" 

"Vaughn is my daughter's only weakness," Jack said shortly. "Pull him out. Let her do what she does best with nothing standing in her way. The deal for the Rambaldi weapon will still stand, and we will still have a chance to capture Sloane and Derevko." 

"And what exactly would she be _doing_, Agent Bristow?" 

"She would be earning Sloane's trust enough to learn Derevko's whereabouts, and presumably ensuring that Mr. Sark didn't suddenly change his mind about our agreement," Kendall spoke up. "Once she does that and Mr. Sark has the weapon in mind, the CIA, FBI, NSC and NSA can team up together for the five of them. We all have interests in this." 

"But Ms. Reed - " 

"If she is as capable as you claim she is," Jack replied. "She'll not shy away from a little spontaneity. By pulling Vaughn out we insure that my daughter is not distracted… something that will save all three of their lives, and the mission as well." 

* * *

Lauren stood up from her perch by the room when she saw her. Sydney paused, the woman's rage was hardly hidden. 

"I was in the room," she explained simply. "And I was ready to kill the arse myself." 

The two women exchanged a glance. Sydney felt a pang go through her. Lauren had been there when she could not. If circumstances were different, _could_ Vaughn and Lauren… 

And then the NSC agent unsealed the door. "He needs you," Lauren said, those three words unknowingly serving as a both reminder and reassurance. "I'll try to warn you when they come." 

With another nod, Sydney entered. 

* * *

Weiss sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I don't mean to be difficult. It's just…" 

Dixon shrugged. "If I could get Sydney out of there, I would in a heartbeat. Your thoughts aren't wrong." 

"Yeah," Weiss muttered. _Damn you, Michael. If you get yourself executed, I'll kill you myself._

Footsteps drew the two of them out of their dark thoughts, and both men looked up as a harried looking Kendall strode to join them. 

"Sir?" Dixon questioned. 

"Your wish has been granted, Agent Weiss," Kendall said, without preamble. "Bring him home." 

* * *

He was wide awake when she rushed to his side, hair mussed and eyes red, bound hands clenched into fists. She swallowed hard. For him to not put up an act for her… he had to have been in excruciating agony. 

"Vaughn," she choked, kissing his face, his neck, behind his ear… fighting back her own frantic worry to provide some semblance of comfort. 

But he shook his head, pulling away from her and wincing at the movement. "Syd, we can't do this. There's no way of knowing when they'll - " 

She kissed him again, this time to shut him up. He responded automatically, relaxing a little when she brought her hands up to stroke at his hair… and then couldn't help a choked sob when she, kissing him with even more passion, accidentally put weight on his back. 

She stopped instantly. "What?" 

He shook his head, panting a little. Confused, Sydney stood and checked his oxygen. Her eyes widened, it was far lower than it should have been. 

"Vaughn!" _What did that doctor _do _to you?_

With no further reason to pretend otherwise, he moaned and closed his eyes, brow furrowed in pain. Carefully Sydney returned his oxygen intake to 100%, blinking back tears of relief when his breathing gradually evened out. But he had yet to relax, hands clenching into even tighter fists, body shaking on the bed. 

"Vaughn! I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong!" 

He winced at her tone, trying to open his eyes and look at her. "Syd - " he managed. She flew back to his side, looking at down at him beseechingly. "Syd, the doctor… he didn't…" 

Another wave of fire shot up his back and he gasped, biting off a scream. Sydney's eyes widened with hatred, even as she whirled to stand in front of his IV. A suspicion began to blossom. The doctor had been cruel, but he _had_ been a doctor. Surely he wouldn't have… 

But he had. Her attention fell on the tube that granted Vaughn reprieve from his agony… which remained clamped closed. Rage tore through her. The man hadn't bothered to give Vaughn back his painkiller after "treating" him! 

"I've got it," she soothed, sobbing in her urgency as she released the liquid, allowing the merciful drugs to again flow into him. "I've got it." 

* * *

"It's been twenty-four hours," Irina informed her captive. 

"This database is encoded with an 8192-bit military-grade polymorphic encryption," Neil shot back without fear, still typing. "Unless you want to kidnap a smarter genius than me, it's going to be a little while." 

"Tell me what you need to speed this up." 

"I need access to a Cray supercomputer," Neil replied, resigned. 

"I hope you're not stalling, Mr. Caplan, because our agreement hedges on your cooperation. Understand?" 

He forced himself to pull it together. Allowing her to see his rage at his current helplessness would gain him nothing. 

"Ms. Derevko, you're asking me to get the specific DNA strands of a handful of people from a record of billions," he said. "That's going to take some time." 

She studied him as though he were a bug under glass. "Then I suggest, Mr. Caplan, that you keep working." 

* * *

He went limp almost instantly, the monitors he was attached to calming themselves in tandem. She waited, glancing nervously towards the door. 

"Vaughn?" All he now wanted to do was sleep, she knew. 

"Here," he muttered, flashing her a reassuring smile. "God bless drugs," he said seriously. 

She grinned back, full-dimpled, equal parts relief and love. "You're okay?" 

He nodded exhaustedly. "When this is over," Vaughn said, words slightly slurred. "You and I are running away." 

She actually laughed at that. "Where would we go?" 

"Santa Barbara. You ever been?" 

She nodded, bending and framing his face with her hands to kiss him on the forehead. _He's running a fever_, she realized, though she said nothing. Knowing would hardly help him 

He smiled at her childlike memory. "No, I mean, the beach, the Biltmore, the food. La Superica… you ever been there?" 

"No," she answered, raising an eyebrow. _He's serious._

He grinned up at her. "Okay, we're going. When this is over." 

"Yeah, come on, as if we can go. There'll be some emergency, some…" 

The second door unsealed. Sydney stepped away from him immediately. 

But it was only Lauren, who had the grace to blush when she realized she had interrupted them. "Sloane is on his way." 

Sydney nodded, taking a deep preparatory breath. "Thanks." 

The other woman flashed her a smile. "Are you all right, Agent Vaughn?" she inquired politely. 

"Yes ma'am," he replied automatically. Sydney smirked, he sounded like a little boy answering a stern teacher. _God bless drugs, indeed._

He glanced at her, reading her thoughts as easily as if she had spoken them aloud, meeting her amusement with a mischievous gaze of his own. "I am now," he amended innocently. "Although if you could stall them for a day or so, we wouldn't object." 

"I'll try my hardest," Lauren answered, just as seriously. She glanced back at Sydney, eyebrow raised. 

"God bless drugs," Sydney explained. 

"Cheers," she agreed, unable to stop a laugh. The love those two had for each other simply illuminated the room, and she felt quite privileged to witness it. 

Sydney leaned over and kissed him. "Be right back," she said dryly. "Stay awake, they'll want to talk to you and I want to get this over with." 

He flashed her a smile. "Don't forget Santa Barbara." 

"Never," she swore. 

And then she followed Lauren out to wait on Sloane and Sark. 

* * *

"This is strictly by-the-book," Kendall warned. 

He sat with Jack, Weiss and Dixon in the circular briefing room, noting their sleep-stinging eyes. 

_Have any of us slept at all?_

"The NSC will be watching us closely, and we can't in any way endanger both our operatives and their agent." 

Dixon nodded, arms folded in front of him. "So how will this work?" 

"You'll be in the helicopter," Jack informed him. "Agent Weiss will be taking point in the Villa itself. We don't know what condition Agent Vaughn is in, so we deemed it easiest to send someone he'll recognize without much thought." 

Both men nodded, understanding the logic of sending Weiss in a position that would normally be held by Dixon. 

"You won't be coming with us?" Dixon asked, eyebrow raised at Jack. 

He shook his head. 

"Why not?" 

Jack's lips pursed, his only visible show of emotion. "The NSC has decided that I lost Irina Derevko. They don't want to risk another mishap," he answered shortly. 

"Okay," Weiss muttered awkwardly into the silence that followed. 

"I'm not going to lie to you," Kendall told him. "The plan requires _you_ to pull him out. The backup will arrive with Dixon." 

Weiss' jaw dropped. "I'm going in _alone_?" 

"The NSC decided that sending in a team to raid the Villa is too big a risk," Jack said, still simmering. "Weiss, you will need to retrieve Agent Vaughn from the basement - according to the bug in Sark's neck, that's where he's being held - and then out onto the grounds. From there, Dixon, you and the rest of the backup team will provide cover while Vaughn gets on or is loaded onto the helicopter." 

"There is to be minimal if any at all contact with the staff," Kendall warned them. "That's why the team is not to intervene until Agent Vaughn is _outside_ the facilities. You will be provided with photos of the NSC officer, but you are still expected to not kill unless you have to." 

Dixon nodded. Weiss' eyes narrowed. Did these people _really_ think he'd allow Mike's tormentors to live? 

"Questions?" 

"Just one," Dixon said. "Where does Sydney factor into this?" 

The two senior officials looked at each other. 

"She doesn't," Jack said quietly. 

* * *

As dictated they went in together to loom over Vaughn, Sloane standing between them with his hands on their shoulders like a proud father. 

"How are you feeling, Mr. Vaughn?" he asked mildly. 

"Like shit," he replied, fighting to stay awake. Sydney fought to hide a smile and even Sark raised an eyebrow. 

"Typically defiant," Sloane mused. He glanced over at Sydney. "Is there anything you'd like to ask him?" 

She frowned. "Why would I want to?" 

Sloane chuckled. "I was aware that Mr. Vaughn may not be quite that forthcoming," he said. "So I asked Mr. Sark to help… encourage his willingness." 

The younger man said not a word, hands resting on the metal frame around Vaughn's cot, gripping so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

Sydney didn't miss a beat. "Good," she answered, with just a hint of mockery in her tone. Vaughn closed his eyes, relieved. Who knew Lauren permitting a quick visit would shatter one of Sloane's illusions? 

"What do you want me to ask him?" she inquired. "I already know the details of how he killed Francie." 

Hating herself, but knowing her every action was being carefully judged, Sydney reached down and gripped Vaughn's chin, forcing him to look at her. "Trust me," she swore, "you'll pay for that." 

"Sydney - " Vaughn started, wincing at her grip. _You could be a little less realistic._

But Sloane cut him off, satisfied. "Sydney, you know I love you as my own." 

She forced herself to smile, even as she released Vaughn's jaw. "I know." 

"So my mission is just a precaution of sorts. A way for you to prove what I already know, that you would never betray me." 

"Of course," she agreed, while Vaughn silently logged the double meaning behind his words. Sloane hadn't just been talking to her. 

* * *

"_What?_" 

"Our objectives have not changed," Jack answered bluntly. "To be quite frank, I don't expect this plan to be successful." 

_Thanks for the pep-talk_, Eric thought. 

"I will not endanger Sydney by including her," he said. "It is safer in the longer run to see this plan to completion. The only reason why I agreed to attempt to rescue Agent Vaughn is because he is ultimately a distraction she cannot afford." 

His gaze bored into the three of them. 

"If you see her, tell her she is to continue." 

"I will," Dixon answered solemnly. 

Kendall rose. "Then let's get to it. A plane is waiting, and the helicopter will be ready when you get there." 

Weiss and Dixon followed suit. _So this is what it feels like to be a condemned man_, Eric thought dryly. 

"Gentlemen," Jack said. 

They turned. Unlike the rest of them, he still sat stiffly at the table, hands folded in front of him. 

"Bring him home." 

"We will," Eric vowed. 

And then they left. 

_Stay safe, Sydney_, Jack thought, all by himself in the room. 

**- to be continued -**


	45. Rescuing a Boy Scout

**_Chapter Forty Three - Rescuing a Boy Scout_**

"And I trust your information is accurate this time?" 

Vaughn gritted his teeth, fighting both to stay awake and to not earn himself even _more_ trouble. "It is, Mr. Sloane." 

The former head of SD-6 studied him for a bit, one eyebrow raised. Vaughn tensed but forced himself to meet the man's gaze. The plan, his life and _Sydney's life_ depended on it. 

The CIA, and Sydney, had found the Rambaldi book before. They would surely be able to do so again, even if he told Sloane where to find it. 

"Very well," Sloane said at last. He glanced at the other people in the room. "We'll leave immediately," he announced. 

"All of us?" Sark inquired coolly. 

"No," he answered, squeezing Sydney's shoulder. "Mr. Vaughn obviously will not be joining us, nor would he be in any circumstances." 

"Good," Sydney said, voice rigid. 

Sloane handed them both a half-smile. "At least not yet." 

"Sir?" Sark inquired. 

"Mr. Sark, you will ensure that Agent Bristow has all she needs to complete the task," Sloane ordered. He glanced behind them, where his younger partner's staff members stood waiting. 

"Drive them to the airport and then return here," he ordered the woman. 

She nodded. 

He then glanced toward the other man, who stood even now with his arms crossed and glaring eyes focused on the helpless, bedridden prisoner. "What's your name?" 

He straightened. "Diego." 

"Well Diego, my wife and I need to spend some time away while the others are on their mission," Sloane said mildly. "I leave Mr. Vaughn under your capable control." 

Vaughn's jaw clenched, his heart monitor again betraying him. Both Sydney and Lauren jolted to full attention, fighting the impulse to protest. Meanwhile, Sark crossed his arms and smiled at the floor, amused. 

"The information he provided to us will allow him to live, if accurate," Sloane continued, looking directly in the guard's eyes. "If I return to find him dead or further injured before we had a chance to learn his value, you will join him. Understood?" 

The other man nodded, though he fooled no one. It took every bit of her control for Sydney to hold her tongue. Vaughn, sensing this, held her gaze with his own, silently pleading with her to stay quiet. Forget his own life. If she spoke up it meant her death, and that would partly be _his_ fault. 

"Good," Sloane commended. He turned toward the others. "Mr. Sark?" 

"Right," the younger man said, restraining his smirk. He raised a golden eyebrow at Sydney. "Shall we?" 

"Of course," she forced herself to say, flashing a smile. _I can't leave Vaughn here with that man! I _won't_ leave him here!_

"Vaughn - " she blurted, before she could stop herself. Lauren stiffened. Vaughn's eyes widened, the warning apparent. _Sydney! Pull yourself together or you'll kill us both!_

She closed her eyes in self-loathing but forced herself to step forward and grab him by the hair, turning him towards her. His eyes darkened with pain, but he didn't fight her. "I'll be back," she told him, voice mocking. "Count on it." 

He groaned as she tightened her grip, watching Sloane smile in delight from the corner of her eye. 

"Sydney - " he said dryly. "Plenty of time for that later." 

Nodding her acquiescence, she started to release Vaughn… and then pulled his head back with wrenching force that tore away the oxygen tubes in his nose, bent, and kissed him. But this kiss was harsh and cruel and actually quite painful, judging from the way he reflexively tried to pull away, sputtering in surprise as he tasted blood in his mouth. 

Sloane actually laughed. Sydney closed her eyes, accidentally gripping Vaughn harder as her rage at Sloane intensified. He moaned against her lips, again trying to move away, but she didn't hear him. 

She needed to make Sloane forget about her outburst, and it looked as though she had been successful. But at what cost? The resistance went out of her love's body and it occurred to a horrified Sydney that in her act she'd literally cut off any chance he had at air. 

_Oh God! I'm sorry, Vaughn! I'm so sorry!_

Careful to seem unhurried, Sydney allowed his head to fall back on the pillow. He closed his eyes, oblivious to his audience as he fought, rather unsuccessfully, to breathe without oxygen aid. 

"Sydney," Sloane said, coming over and resting his hand on her arm. "The jet is waiting, and Emily will soon wake up." 

She nodded primly, wiping a bit of blood out from inside her cheek. _I'm so sorry, Vaughn! Forgive me!_

Vaughn whimpered from the bed, his struggling breaths growing in hysteria. 

"I'll catch up to you," Lauren said quickly. "Diego doesn't have the knowledge to replace what Ms. Bristow just removed." 

Sloane hesitated, glancing at Sydney and Sark, before nodding. "All right," he agreed. "Be fast." 

And then they all filed out, Diego last. Lauren grimaced, almost able to taste his anticipation of being left alone with the agent once more. 

When she was certain they were gone, she rushed to Vaughn's side. "It's all right," she soothed, carefully replacing the oxygen. He breathed deeply, gradually relaxing once more. Moving as fast as possible she bent and hurriedly examined him, scowling to herself when she realized he was drenched in sweat. _His fever's gone up._ Unattended, that alone could kill him. The torture Diego doubtlessly had planned for him would only guarantee his death. 

And then a thought occurred to her. She closed her eyes, bowing her head in silent prayer. What she was about to do could very well kill him as well, but it would be far less painful than what Diego would do to him. 

"Michael," she murmured, grabbing the water bottle nearby. Hopefully the more cruel aftereffects would be diluted by the liquid. "Finish this." 

He did so, too exhausted to even consider not doing so. Only when she pulled the container from his lips did she brace herself, pulling out a well-remembered syringe from her pocket. _Each dose lasts six hours_, she thought. _One should be enough for me to venture to the airport and back._

"I'm sorry," she said to him when he recognized the needle and recoiled from her. "But Diego won't hurt you if you're unconscious. He plans to manipulate the sedative in the IV, but this will keep you safe until I return and can watch him." 

He shook his head. "Don't - " 

But she uncapped the needle and stepped closer, gently pulling his head to the side to give her easy access to his throat. "I'm doing this to help you." 

He jerked out of her hold, drawing strength from reserves he didn't even know he had. He didn't get far - his arms were still restrained to each side of the cot - but his movement was so unexpected that she stopped. 

"How is giving me that helping me? he demanded, voice as uneven as a teenage boy. 

Lauren sighed. "If I don't, Diego _will_ kill you," she said. "You know that. And I can't allow that to happen." 

"Why?" Vaughn asked suspiciously. 

She ignored him, cursing herself for the slip. Moving faster than he could react, she grabbed him by his shoulder and forced him back down, resting a flat hand on his left cheek to hold his head and neck still and at an angle. With him thus immobilized and waiting helplessly, she prepped the needle with her free hand. 

"Don't - " he began to ask again, though his voice was resigned. 

"I am sorry," Lauren whispered. "Truly." 

And then she injected the Chlordiazepoxide. He gasped in pain, hands clenching into fists as what felt like acid poured into him. But then the serum set in and he unwillingly relaxed, spiraling away into a deep, bottomless hole. 

* * *

"Based on echo transcripts from Sark's transmitter and Agent Reed's reports, the Villa is actually a collection of buildings. Vaughn is held in the center one. There are three ways to enter it; our best bet being a glass door that is directly in front of the wine cellar entrance." 

"Okay," Weiss said quietly, leaning over the map. 

"I'll have the helicopter hover as close as we can without being detected," Dixon continued, shouting to be heard. "The pool in front of the home will complicate things. The most recent transmission from the basement made it _very_ clear Vaughn will not be able to help you very much, Agent Weiss, but we will have to land on the opposite side of the house because of it. He'll have to walk that distance." 

"I'll get him out," Weiss shrugged. "Land the 'chopper, but meet us halfway with a stretcher." 

"I will, if he needs one," Dixon promised. 

"No, do so anyway," Weiss requested dryly. 

* * *

"Hello?" 

"Hello, Jack." 

"Irina." 

"I'm on a secure line. Are you?" 

"Of course." 

She paused, measuring her words. "I have learned much." 

"About?" 

"Why are you not coming to Spain?" 

Jack sighed. "The NSC believes you escaped because of me. Their nervousness over an asset insured that I would not be included." 

She chuckled. "What did you tell them?" 

"That I walked you to the front door of Vaughn's apartment." 

"Which was true." 

"Yes." 

* * *

Sydney sat in the back of a limo, as far away from Sark as possible, staring out the window. Shame and guilt raged equally within her. 

_I hurt him_, she thought, repeating the words like a mantra. _I hurt him and I didn't even notice! Oh, God! Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay. I hurt him!_

"Sydney?" 

Feelings retreating behind a mask, she turned and faced her temporary ally. 

Sark held out, of all things, a glass of wine. "I would suggest relaxing, Agent Bristow." 

She stared at him. "Did you put something in that?" 

He had the gall to smile at her. "Your distraction could get us both killed," he said. He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "and I would never spoil Château Pétrus in such a manner." 

* * *

"This will be good for us, Emily." 

She managed a tremulous smile. They stood outside the Villa, at yet another limo that would take them to Arvin's private jet. 

"Will it?" 

He kissed her. "It will." 

* * *

From behind a gate, Weiss watched warily as the house all but emptied over a four hour course. _Someone likes me_, he thought. 

Sydney, Sark and the NSC agent - Lauren? - went first. Weiss' alarm level shot up to extreme when he saw the look Sydney wasn't bothering to hide. What was she thinking? 

_Am I too late?_

And then they were gone. Carefully, Weiss stepped forward… and then dived back into his hiding place. 

The Sloanes walked out next, suitcases in hand. Weiss snorted inwardly; they looked like a normal couple going on vacation. 

"_How's it looking, Retriever?"_ Dixon called. 

"Everyone's leaving," Weiss muttered back. "No sign of Boy Scout." 

_"Then everyone's not leaving,_" Dixon replied dryly. "_They wouldn't leave him unguarded."_

Eric nodded, forgetting in his anxiety to see his friend that Dixon wouldn't see his action. _Where's the Spanish guy?_ he wondered. 

The second limo pulled away. Weiss braced himself, shouldered his rifle, and made his way to the door. Getting in was child's play, and whoever had been in the hidden room last (_Thanks, Agent Reed!)_ had left it open for him. 

But his good humor vanished the moment he laid eyes on the younger agent. He had never felt so sick. 

His best friend lay strapped to a cot in the basement, apparently unconscious. Flecks of blood from who-knows-what dotted both his hospital gown and the blanket that mostly covered him. Glancing quickly behind him, the fellow agent strode to his side. 

"Mike?" he questioned, freeing his arms. "I may be talented, but I'm gonna need some help getting you up these steps." 

No response. 

"Damn it," Weiss swore, touching the earpiece. "Retriever to Base." 

"_Go, Retriever_," the reply came. 

"I've got Boy Scout, but it'll be a negative on moving him." 

"_Retriever, you're about to have company. Get out of there!_" 

Weiss' jaw dropped. "I'm not leaving him here!" 

Vaughn frowned, the loud noises bringing him out of his drug-induced sleep. His eyes fluttered and then opened, widening in astonishment at the sight of his best friend. 

"Base, hold on for a second," Weiss ordered hurriedly. He leaned over Vaughn, trying to catch his friend's full, alert attention. "Hey, buddy. Miss me?" 

Vaughn shook his head. "What - ?" 

"I'm here to take you home," Weiss interrupted. "But we have to go, _now_." He glanced nervously at all the equipment hooked up to his friend. "How essential is this?" 

Vaughn closed his eyes; Weiss' energy was making his head hurt. But seconds later, he jumped at the sound of fingers snapping right in front of his face. 

"Sorry, buddy," Weiss said from somewhere overhead. "But you can sleep when we're out of here." 

"_Retriever?_" 

"Coming!" he yelled, sweat pouring off his forehead. When it came to field missions, he was hardly in his element. "Mike? We need to _go_." 

"I can't," Vaughn stammered. "The Op - " 

"Let me rephrase," Weiss shot back. "_We're going_. You don't have a choice, Mike. Sydney can handle herself, and you need to be in a real hospital." 

"But - " 

His response ended abruptly. Lacking any chance at doing this correctly, Weiss withdrew his service knife and simply sliced through the oxygen tubes and the sensors connected to Vaughn. He then sucked in his breath and gently pulled out the IV needle. 

"Come on," Weiss muttered, pulling his friend upright. Vaughn didn't fight him, though he shook his head. 

"I can't walk, Eric. Not now." 

"_Retriever_?" 

"Yeah? Mike, shut up." 

Vaughn didn't hide a whimper as Weiss stood him up. His breaths were once again coming in wheezes and he could feel blood as it dripped down his back. Had to be the drug weakening the clots, the wounds should not have been so raw. 

"_Retriever_!" 

"Coming!" Weiss said again, holding his friend up with one arm and grabbing the blanket with the other. "I'm sorry," he apologized, meaning it. His friend's pain, which _he_ was causing, sent a knife through his heart. Vaughn nodded, resting his head on Weiss' shoulder. _He's running a fever_, Eric groaned. That meant taking him out to the cold Spanish night would only hurt him more. 

"Stay with me," Weiss ordered him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Very slowly, they headed for the door. Vaughn stumbled, moaning as the movement reopened even more wounds. He was almost grateful for the pain; all he wanted to do was sleep and the injuries kept him awake. 

"Retriever to Base, I've got Boy Scout. Heading for the bird. Ready cover fire if needed. ETA 10 minutes." 

Vaughn's breath hitched, resolving itself into a wheeze. Weiss swore to himself. 

_You'll pay for what you did to him, you son of a bitch._

"Come on," he urged again, half carrying, half pulling Vaughn up the stairs. His friend tried, but he was far from his best… 

And then the sound of a gun cocking tore through the chaos. 

Weiss froze, automatically pulling the younger man behind him to provide a shield. The Spanish guard stood there, face twisted in rage, gun aimed directly at Vaughn. 

Eric swore angrily to himself. His gun was on his belt and his hands, holding Michael up and behind him, were light years away from his holster. Helpless, he could only watch as the guard strolled toward them. 

"You can leave," the man said to him, accent heavy. "I only want him." 

"Then you can go to Hell," Weiss replied without thought, gripping his friend tighter. For his part Vaughn was all but laying against his back, shaking, feverish head resting on Eric's right shoulder. "Either that or _get out of my way_." 

"I gave you a chance," Diego smirked in reply, gun shifting to aim at Weiss' heart. 

His only consolation, Eric supposed, was that he wouldn't be around to watch the man kill Mike. 

**- to be continued -**

_Question of the Day:_ Was Lauren right to drug Vaughn, even though he didn't want her to?****


	46. DoubleSided Karma

_Dedicated especially to all my new marathon readers… I'll pay for new chair cushions! ;)_

**_Chapter Forty Four - Double-Sided Karma_**

"Land as close to the Villa as possible," Dixon ordered, perched next to the pilot in the crowded helicopter. Two more flew beside him, one full of agents and the other full of doctors and medical equipment. "I want all medics on emergency standby. In fact, unload first." 

"Sir, what about the backup? Shouldn't they get out first to protect the medics? And Weiss and Vaughn?" 

Dixon sighed, concentrating intently on the sounds the earpiece was picking up from the wine cellar. "In this case, backup is less important than having Agent Vaughn receive immediate medical attention." _And possibly Agent Weiss, too._

* * *

"The NSA and the CIA are actually working together to learn more about Rambaldi. That means the codes Mr. Vaughn gave us to deactivate the new access control system will work concurrently on any facility concerning our interest." 

Sydney resisted the urge to twirl her hair around her finger. The way Sark was talking, an observer would assume she was a clueless rookie! 

"The blueprints indicate…" Sark started, pausing when he realized his "partner" was not paying attention to him. 

"Agent Bristow - " 

"I memorized them," she snapped. 

"Such confidence." 

No reply. Ignoring him entirely, she rose and began to pace. 

"The plan is going well," Sark drawled, _not_ trying to rouse her annoyance. 

She smiled at him. A genuine, full-dimpled grin. He hesitated, his sense of danger growing. 

"No," she said, tone cheery. "No, it's not." 

And then, before he could blink, Sydney strolled back to where he sat, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him up against the right wall of the jet. 

* * *

A gun fired. Weiss flinched, waiting for the pain of a bullet slamming into him. A pain that never came. 

Instead, Diego dropped his gun and collapsed, cursing in Spanish and gripping his leg. Which had been shot. 

Weiss twisted around, just in time to see Vaughn toss his, Eric's, gun from his right hand to his left, shifting his aim to incorporate Diego's now lower height despite still fully relying on Eric to stay upright. 

The pistol was aimed at the man's other leg, Weiss noted absently. If Mike had to fire again, he still wouldn't kill him. 

Something to puzzle over later. Michael's breathing was getting worse. 

"Why didn't you - ?" Weiss asked, trying to hold his attention. Carefully he took his service pistol back and then renewed his tight grip on his friend. Vaughn was already swaying and would probably collapse in short order as soon as he was allowed to. 

"I killed his brother," Mike said through his wheezes. "He's _already_ dead." 

_The brother or this guy?_ Weiss wondered. In Mike's current state, Lord knew what his friend thought was going on. He was half-tempted to shoot the guard himself; there were no advantages to leaving him alive. 

But Michael, despite having endured obvious agony at this man's hands, had spared him. Like it or not, Eric knew, it wasn't his place to kill him. 

"You," he ordered, gun aimed at the man's head. "Go lie down." 

The man stared at him as though he'd suddenly morphed into a woman, not budging. 

"_Please_ give me a reason to shoot," Weiss begged, dead serious. "_Please._" 

Point made. The man stood up, limping heavily, and made his way to the cot. Glaring furiously, he lowered himself down on it. 

_Now what?_ Eric grimaced to himself. He wanted nothing more than to utilize the four sets of handcuffs that had bound his friend. But Michael was clearly not able to stand on his own. Restraining the guard meant he'd have to bring the younger man closer in proximity to his tormentor, and Eric would die before he allowed the man any chance to put Vaughn through further trauma. 

"Hands underneath you," Weiss ordered. "Cross your ankles." 

Rolling his eyes, the guard obeyed. 

"I'll hear you if you move," Eric warned him. "Your wound will take care of that. Do so and I'll kill you before you get an _inch_ closer to him than you are now. Understood?" 

He nodded, seething. 

"All right," Weiss murmured, holstering his gun and returning his attention to Vaughn. Gingerly, he pulled him toward the stairs. "Nice and easy, Michael." 

"Yessir," Vaughn muttered. 

* * *

"Yes?" 

_"Where are you now?"_

"En route to the Villa. They are on holiday." 

Codeword, that. The young terrorist and Agent Bristow were well on their way to raid for the Rambaldi book. 

_"No, do not go back. Your cover will be discovered. I want you to go to Operations."_

"Operations?" 

Los Angeles? 

_"Yes. Share all you know with them."_

"As ordered." 

Pause. Then, 

_"Update me on his condition."_

"I planned to give him the antidote before the extraction team arrived. The other guard would have killed him, had I not - " 

_"Your neglecting to do so could mean his life."_

"He should be awake. The hallucinations will soon begin." 

_"You're too valuable an asset. Show yourself at Operations. If he is deserving of my daughter, he will survive."_

"As ordered." 

* * *

The walk to the helicopter was the longest stretch of time Weiss would ever encounter. 

Twice, Vaughn went limp against him and Eric was forced to shake him awake. The younger man's lips were an alarming shade of blue, and the most scary part of all was that he didn't seem to care. Anyone else would have been hysterically trying to gulp in air, but that seemed to be aggravating his wounds even farther. So in his half-awake state, Michael wasn't bothering to fight to breathe. 

And his condition affected him in other ways too… the cold air was indeed worsening his fever - Eric could feel the rising heat just by standing next to him - and he was obliviously and innocently talking to Sydney under his breath as a result. It was almost as though he was in a a dream state. 

_What did these people do to you? _

And the remnants of Diego's cruelty also insured Weiss was unable to keep a steady hold on him. Just when he thought he had, Vaughn would jerk against him as a wound was aggravated and Weiss would almost lose his grip, something that would probably send both of them crashing to the ground. 

_I should have shot that man myself when I had a chance._

But then they were there, and other agents surrounded them. Strong arms took Vaughn from him gently, laying him down on a padded stretcher. Another pulled an oxygen mask over his face. Weiss closed his eyes briefly, relieved, meeting Dixon's smile with one of his own. _He'll be fine. And then you can kick his ass for turning you into a mother hen._

The return of oxygen seemed to restore some of Vaughn's reflexive reactions, which fell victim to both his fever and hazy drug aftereffects. The agents flocking around him began to strap him down to transfer him safely onto the helicopter, something he clearly disagreed with. Weiss' jaw dropped as his friend, not realizing he was among allies, began to fight the retrieval team with a vengeance - and in his weakened mental state, automatically regressed to the first language he learned as a child. 

"_Arrêtez-le! Libérez-moi! Pourquoi faites-vous ceci? No!_" Vaughn protested, his voice muffled behind the mask but still audible, pain and confusion apparent. He struggled wildly against their holds. ("Stop it! Release me! Why are you doing this? No!") 

"Agent Vaughn," Dixon spoke up, frowning in concern. He laid his hand over Sydney's boyfriend's heart, only to jerk it away when Vaughn groaned at the contact. "You know us! It's all right!" 

But the delirious agent only fought harder at the words, French spilling frantically from his lips. His captors had seemed to enjoy referring to him in such a formal manner, after all, and Vaughn had had _enough_. 

"_Sydney, aidez-moi! Arrêtez-les!_" he half sobbed, half yelled, thrashing against the many hands trying to keep him immobile. "_Je n'ai fait rien! Arrêt!_" ("Sydney, help me! Stop them! I didn't do anything! Stop!") 

Forcing his lower jaw to reconnect, Weiss stepped through the crowd and held his friend still with brutal strength, grunting from exerted effort. "Mike! What the hell? Chill!" He gripped the other man's shoulders, pressing him back down against the stretcher despite the wounds on his back. "Relax, buddy!" 

The pain from that seemed to get through to Vaughn, and he frowned, quieting. The men around him let out relieved breaths. Dixon passed a weary hand over his eyes. That hadn't been fun to witness. 

"Eric?" 

But Weiss raised an eyebrow, still on guard. The way Michael had just said his name… what was he hallucinating now? Whatever it was, it wasn't good. 

"Yeah. I'm here." 

His eyes clouded. "They got you, too?" 

_Huh?_

Weiss opened his mouth to express his confusion… and then cut off when his friend abruptly began to struggle again. 

"Damn it! Michael, stop this! You're hurting yourself, idiot!" 

Vaughn ignored him, eyes focused on something. Puzzled, Eric risked looking behind him even as he tightened his hold. 

An agent stood there, a syringe in hand. 

"What the hell are you _doing_?" Weiss thundered. Dixon glared. 

The man nearly folded in on himself at their reactions. "It's just something to calm him down," he blurted. 

"Which considering what he's just been through, _might_ be alarming to him," Dixon growled from off to the side, vowing to get the man's identification later. 

"_Shoo_," Weiss ordered the insipid agent. "I'll handle this" 

And then he leaned closer to Michael, still pinning him down. "Mike, if you do that again, I'll make sure to let Sydney know, you got me? You're safe. You're fine. Anyone that _looks_ at you funny will answer to me. So lie still and for once don't do _anything_, got it? Or I'll let the rookie and the needle come back because damn it, I didn't just raid the Villa to have you basically commit suicide. Relax, buddy. Now." 

Point made. Vaughn nodded and quieted, going from hysterical to motionless in a matter of moments. 

"Base," Dixon said into the earpiece, watching as the medics carefully loaded the injured agent onto the helicopter. "Retrieval successful." 

* * *

"Good work," Kendall complimented him. The tense room behind him broke into immediate, quiet celebration. 

Elsa watched unobtrusively, sitting in Vaughn's chair. Not caring who saw, she wiped tears of relieved joy from her eyes. Had the younger man died she would _never_ have forgiven herself. This whole mess began with her family, after all. 

On the other side of the room, Craig Parker dropped his head. He'd asked for an LA assignment the second he had heard what his ol' Daddy was up too. For a bit, it had looked as though Michael had bitten off more than he could chew. 

But he should've known better. Whoever else he was, Vaughn was luck incarnate. 

* * *

"Operations, this is Officer 83489, requesting a pickup. Confirmation: yankee doodle." 

"Pickup sent. See you shortly." 

* * *

Jack Bristow sat alone, studying the phone in the middle of the table with the same interest one would study a priceless jewel. 

Or so it seemed. 

His "relations" with his ex-wife had hardly been simple, but this… 

_It's for Sydney_, he thought. 

And with that, the weight lifted off his chest. 

Regardless what happened, his daughter would be safe. 

* * *

Robert Lindsay dropped the phone onto the cradle, raising an eyebrow in return at NSA Director Brandon. 

"Who was that?" 

He hesitated, automatically holding back info… but all four agencies - CIA, FBI, NSC and NSA - seemed to be reluctantly cooperating to take care of Sloane and Derevko. 

"Her name's Lauren Reed," he answered. "She's been in deep cover with Sark. Her cover must have been blown. _I'll_ debrief her here." 

"Look, Lindsay," Brandon snapped. "I don't give a damn about whatever else you have going on. I'm here to get my agent home." 

"I'm here for the betterment of my country," he replied. 

"You're here because the president that appointed you needs a re-election," Brandon retorted. 

* * *

"Sydney - " Sark interjected, grasping at her hand with both of his, trying to loosen her iron-clad grip. 

She only tightened it. "I warned you," she growled. "I _warned_ you! Vaughn was _not_ to be hurt! Not _one_ hair on his head was to be touched!" 

"Hardly my fault," Sark gasped out, grunting as she lifted him higher in the air. He would most certainly have bruises from this. 

Damn it. 

"They worked for you!" Sydney exploded. "You wouldn't hire people that don't follow your orders!" 

It vaguely occurred to Sark that he had possibly just been complimented, but his need for oxygen overruled any emotions he might have normally felt. 

"You were in the room when I told them not to harm him," he choked out. "I cannot be held responsible for their noncompliance!" 

But Sydney's wrathful expression and tight stranglehold didn't wane. _She looks like Irina_, Sark thought, trying to blink away the spots that were suddenly in front of his eyes. 

And then he blacked out. 

* * *

"I don't recommend this! This is not wise!" 

Eric rolled his eyes. "You just told me you saw this man before, treated him even, and even though you _knew_ he was a prisoner you did nothing to help him!" 

"My priority was saving his life!" the Spanish doctor blustered. "Details like that were not important!" 

"Details?" Weiss gaped. "I'm flying him home, and my actions are sanctioned by my superiors. Don't get in the way, _Doctor_." 

But the man persisted, "He is _not_ stable enough to move! Agent Weiss, you could kill him by putting him on an airplane!" 

"He's obviously not safe here," Weiss snapped. "But I'll talk to him. If he wants to go home and you interfere, you'll be glad you're in a hospital. Trust me on that." 

* * *

Sark woke to find himself crumpled in a heap against the side of the jet, bruised and throat burning. The sound of papers wrinkling caught his attention and he turned his head with tremendous effort. 

Sydney sat with calm nonchalance a few feet away from where she'd dumped him on the floor, carefully scanning the blueprints. 

* * *

He looked fragile, for lack of a better word. 

Weiss sank down into the chair by Vaughn's bed. The younger man didn't stir, of course, his unexplained hysteria making it necessary for doctors to render him unconscious. Had he been awake, the breathing tube down his throat and the light restraints on his wrists would probably have alarmed him into hurting himself further anyway. 

Eric groaned, patted his friend on the arm and then rested his elbows on his knees, burying his head into his hands. However idiotic the doctor was, he was right. Michael's condition had yet to fully stabilize. Returning him to Los Angeles could indeed be much too traumatic for him to handle. 

But leaving him here, in a Spanish hospital that had unapologetically looked the other way when they, at the very least, could have helped him escape Sloane… 

_Let this be the right choice_, Weiss thought to whomever could be listening. 

And then he stood up to charter an airplane back to California. 

* * *

He was finished. 

Neil dropped his head, exhausted. The computer's monitor burned in front of him, the blinking cursor resting directly at the end of the number strands that represented his wife and son's DNA profiles. 

When Sloane activated the weapon _he_, Neil, had built, seven people would be spared. Seven out of Los Angeles' 4 million citizens. 

Did that make him a saver of lives or an accessory to murder? 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Weiss bends the truth.__


	47. Interrupted Slumber

**_Chapter Forty Five - Interrupted Slumber_**

The first thing he became aware of was the smell. Clinical. Pristine. The second was the sound of very loud beeping. A heart monitor? Why would he be in the same room as a heart monitor? 

He tried to think, tried to force his mind to wake up to figure out the answer. But that hurt. So instead Vaughn just lay there, bewildered, and wondered where the hell he was and what the hell had happened to him. 

Minor questions, those. 

The last things he remembered had been giving Sloane, Sydney and Sark _correct_ ways to break into the Taskforce Center. They had then left, and Lauren had drugged him despite his attempts to resist her, and he had powerlessly fallen into a deeper hole than the Avalanche after Roy retired. 

He remembered seeing his best friend. At least he thought he did. And possibly even Marcus Dixon. But they were just snatches of color, generic images similar to thousands of operations, and he had no idea if such things had to do with where he was now. 

And now he had a headache. His eyes caught a water glass sitting on the table to his left. Suddenly ravenously thirsty, he reached for it without thought. 

Only to realize that his wrists were bound to either side of the bed. He frowned, straining his head to look down. Unlike the previous handcuffs, these bindings were legitimately medical… 

_So am I still a prisoner?_

Forcing himself to calm down, Vaughn scanned the room intently. An oxygen mask covered his face (_guess that rules out water anyway_), two different IVs were hooked up to him and he didn't want to think about the number of tubes and sensors in his body, beginning with the oxygen tubes in his nose. The gown he wore was clean, as was his bedding, and the pillows he lay upon were tremendously, marvelously, fluffy. Hardly the amount of attention normally granted to a guest of Arvin Sloane. 

And then the door to his room opened. Vaughn looked up, expecting the worst, and then instantly relaxed when Eric Weiss arrived. His friend rewarded him with a huge smile. 

"You're awake," Weiss observed happily, jamming his hands in his pockets. 

Vaughn nodded, amazed at how much that tiny movement exhausted him, and then opened his mouth to speak. But Eric shook his head. 

"You've been in some kind of coma for almost a week, Michael. They just took out a breathing tube. Take it easy." 

Vaughn's eyes drifted down to the restraints and Eric flushed. "Oh. Sorry about those. You were very _energetic_ when we brought you in - " 

Vaughn frowned. _I was?_

" - so we put those on for your own safety. I'll get someone to take them off, okay?" 

He nodded, not caring about them anyway. "Sydney?" he tried to ask, without success. He simply didn't have the strength to use his vocal chords. 

But Eric knew his friend. He bowed his head, agonizing over his dilemma. He could tell the truth… or he could lie and know that Mike would take the time he needed to recover. 

It was an easy decision to make. 

"She's in debrief." 

"She's okay? " Vaughn trailed off, coughing behind the mask. 

"She's uh, fine. Don't talk, Michael. The NSC contacted us. Said they had an operative in there and we were endangering her." 

_Lauren_, Vaughn realized. 

"They told us to get you out or cut you lose. Jack cleared an Op to get you out." 

Weiss leaned closer to him. "He didn't think we'd survive, to be honest." 

Horrified, Vaughn didn't even hear him. 

"_Is she okay?_" another fit of coughing. He groaned, the motions ripping at the new stitches over his lungs. 

"Michael, _don't talk_. I was told to bring you home, and I did. And for the record, I don't regret it." 

Vaughn smiled faintly. _Good 'ole Eric_. He opened his mouth again, but Eric glared at him. "Tell me thank you and I'll have the nurses ram a tube down your throat again. _Don't talk._" 

He nodded wearily. 

"What else would you want to know… doctors said you had a punctured lung - you owe me an explanation for that - deep lacerations around your wrists and minor cuts around your ankles - from restraints?" 

Off Vaughn's reluctant nod, Eric continued, " - three bruised ribs, some internal bleeding, a high fever, and…" Eric swallowed hard. "…. and about 20 lashes from a wide leather strap on your back, along with burns covering most of the wounds." 

Vaughn's jaw dropped. Had he really been _that_ injured? 

"You also had some lingering effects from an illegal sedative in your blood, which is part of the reason why we knocked you out for so long. That and the tube. But other than that, you're peachy." 

_Wonderful_, he thought dryly. 

"Aaron Caplan will be coming by later." Weiss smiled. "That little boy is so attached to you. The only way Elsa can get him to sleep now is if he sees you first. He'll be thrilled you're awake." 

Vaughn couldn't help but grin at that. He adored that little boy. 

"Doctors said you've got at least a couple days on pure oxygen via the mask - " Vaughn scowled, earning him an even larger one from his friend. "With no complaints, Michael. After that, we'll talk about weaning you off of it. And yes, I said _we_. Do what you're told, buddy. It's for your own good. Oh, and your mom is due in later." 

Vaughn paused, horrified. His _mother_ had been brought in? He _had_ planned to tell her… but only from a safe distance and _after_ he had fully recovered and could dismiss his captivity as unimportant. 

"I didn't know how you really were," Eric told him bluntly. "I called her as soon as I could, just in case. She'll be here in a few days." 

Vaughn glared. _Thanks, buddy. Thanks a lot._

Eric chuckled. 

* * *

Jack Bristow did not pace. But he was. 

Annoyed, he forced himself to lean against his desk. Sitting in a room with three other agency officials was making him miss field work more than he could ever say. 

Enough was enough. As the door opened and the other three strolled out of the conference room, Jack put his pager on standby and began to head for the door, intent on quietly checking up on the young man that had almost paid the ultimate price out of love for his daughter. Again. 

But as he opened the door, a blonde woman all but collided with him. "Excuse - " he started to say, automatically. 

"It's okay," she chuckled. "My apologies." 

Politely, Jack stepped aside and held the door for her. But even as he again turned to leave, Robert Lindsay's greeting stopped him short. 

"Agent Reed!" the man called. "Welcome home!" 

* * *

He was sleeping when he arrived. 

Aaron Caplan darted up to the bed, perching himself on the chair next to the nice man. With huge brown eyes he studied "Mr. Mike" intently, grinning to himself when he realized that the man's cheeks were pink like Mommy's cheeks. Before, they'd been as white as the pillow behind his head. 

Thrilled by his discovery, the five-year-old crawled onto the bed carefully. His Mommy would yell if she saw him, but it was so warm and comfy! 

Being very, very gentle, Aaron gave the man a peck on the cheek, just below the mask. He then wrapped his arms around the man's neck, preparing to cuddle and sleep… and then bounced back, a small cry escaping him, when Mr. Mike opened his eyes and looked at him. 

But his fear vanished when the man smiled at him. "Hello," Mr. Mike said. His voice was kinda funny-sounding, but to the little boy that had worried about him it was wonderful to hear. 

"Hi Mr. Mike!" Aaron said. "Done taking a nap?" 

"Yup," Vaughn answered, amused at the nickname. _Eric, no doubt._

"I missed you," Aaron said seriously. "Everyone keeps going away! You're the first person to come back!" 

"Sorry," he answered, wanting to say more but unable to do so. His throat still ached from the tube. 

The little boy nodded solemnly, resting his tiny cheek against Vaughn's forehead. "Just don't do that again, Mr. Mike," he lectured, tiny finger pointed at him. 

Vaughn fought not to laugh, which hurt too. _Eric again!_

"Aaron! Get down from there!" 

"He's all right," Vaughn managed to tell her. Elsa's eyes widened. 

"You're awake!" she said, genuinely pleased. She stepped forward, helping her son down and then taking his hand. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine," he replied automatically. 

She nodded. "Right," she murmured. "Sorry. Um, listen…" 

He waited, fighting against the heavy drugs that helped him heal… but also caused him to sleep more in one day than he would in a normal week. 

Elsa scowled to herself when she saw his eyes fluttering. _Excellent way to show gratitude_, she lectured herself. _Keep awake an injured man that should be sleeping!_

"I wanted to say thank you," she said at length. "It sounds so inadequate… but I owe you so much, Mr. Vaughn." 

He shook his head. He was so tired… but this needed to be said. "No," he said, voice hardly above a whisper. "You don't owe me anything." 

She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "But I do," she said quietly. "I - " 

And then she looked at him, stopping in mid-sentence to smile. The man that would always be a hero to her family had completely drifted off. 

"I'll pay back what you've lost because of us," Elsa swore to him, even though he wouldn't hear her. "_Everything._" 

Glancing behind her, where Aaron stood shifting his feet impatiently, Elsa bent and kissed Vaughn lightly on the cheek. Partly out of gratitude, partly because… well, she had a five-year-old son. 

"Mommy!" Aaron gasped in protest, throwing his hands over his eyes. "_Ew!_" 

"Shush," she whispered, laughing. "Let's go out in the hall and wait for Mr. Eric to take us back to Mr. Mike's apartment, okay?" 

Aaron stamped his foot. "I wanna wait here!" he protested. "We've always waited here before, Mommy!" 

Elsa glanced nervously behind her, but Vaughn, best as she could see through the oxygen mask and other surrounding tubes and wires, remained asleep. 

"We don't want to wake up Mr. Mike," she whispered. "That wasn't a concern before." 

"Why?" Aaron asked, voice still at his normal pitch. 

"Because I said so," she replied. "Shhhh. Come on." 

Taking his hand, she started for the door, only to instinctively pull Aaron behind her back at the sound of loud voices. 

"Miss, you can't go in there!" one of the marshals guarding Vaughn's closed door exclaimed, clearly audible through the wood. 

Elsa frowned. "Wait here," she said to Aaron, lightly pushing him towards the chair. 

"But you just said - " and then Aaron shrugged. "Okay!" 

She tiptoed for the door, but the moment she opened it, a woman tried to step through. Elsa jumped back. 

"Miss, I'm sorry, but Michael Vaughn's visitors must be approved in advance for security reasons," the other marshal explained as he caught her arm, frazzled. 

"I care little for American protocol," the woman answered, shaking herself out of his grip. An accent was clearly audible. "I want to see my son, and I want to see him _now_." 

"You're - " Elsa interjected, surprised. 

"Amélie Vaughn," she introduced herself. "Michel Vaughn is my son. _Stand aside_." 

* * *

"I thought I'd go check up on - " 

"Agent Vaughn, of course," Lindsay interrupted. Kendall raised an eyebrow. Even he knew better than to cut off Jack Bristow. 

"May I come?' Lauren asked him, genuinely relieved to hear the man's name. _They have him back here already?_

"Of course," Jack replied, gesturing for her to precede him. "I'll drive you myself." 

With one last look at the Lindsay, Brandon and Kendall, Jack turned and held the door for her. 

* * *

"Surely there's an exception," Elsa said to the guards. "She's his mother!" 

"Anyone could say that, Mrs. Caplan." 

"If your enemies have nothing better to do than ambush my son by pretending to be his mother," Amélie said hotly to the two marshals, "than I can just as easily say _you_ are both _moles_! Stand _aside_, gentlemen." 

"Hey! What's going on?" 

They turned. Eric Weiss strolled down the hall, gaze livid. 

"Can you guys at least _close the door_ before you start yelling? The poor guy needs his rest!" 

"Mr. Weiss," Amélie said dryly. "How's the _law practice_?" 

"Mrs. Va - er, _Madame_ Vaughn," he greeted her, sidestepping the question. "How's Mike doing?" 

"I would know that," she replied, "if the sentries would let me in." 

Weiss' jaw dropped. "You didn't let Mike's _mom_ see him?" he asked the two guards incredulously. 

"She wasn't on the list," one sputtered. 

"I showed them my identification and the baby picture that was in my wallet," Amélie informed him, while Elsa fully stepped forward and closed the door to Vaughn's room. "And when that did not work, Agent Weiss, I offered to have blood taken for comparison." 

Weiss grinned in spite of himself. 

"I'm sorry," one beleaguered marshal sputtered. "But I still have to get authorization." 

Amélie glanced at Eric. "May you - " 

Weiss shook his head regretfully. 

"I'll wait with you," Elsa offered, trying to soften the blow. 

Amélie sighed, but nodded in resignation. 

* * *

"So," Lauren said. 

Bristow's attention on the road did not wane. "Ms. Reed?" 

"How's Agent Vaughn doing? I admit, I expected him to be in a Spanish hospital." 

"There were apparently security issues with that hospital," Jack said, deciding to trust her. She _had_ saved Vaughn's life. "They treated him before but did not help him, even though they knew his circumstances." 

Lauren lowered her eyes. 

* * *

"So who are you to my son?" 

"Oh," Elsa said. "I'm a friend, I suppose. I uh, work for a rival law firm." 

"A rival law firm," Amélie repeated. This woman was a spy, but not for her son's CIA. 

"Yes," Elsa said, flashing her a smile. "I hold your son in the highest regard, _Madame_ Vaughn. He saved my case." 

"Michel is quite the _lifesaver_," Amélie replied. 

Elsa dropped her head, playing with her hands. _I should be better than this_, she thought. "When I heard about your son," she said to Amélie, "I felt somewhat responsible." 

"Why?" the other woman questioned. 

She shrugged. "I'm sure Michael - " the name felt odd on her tongue " - has told you about some of his cases?" 

"Yes," Amélie replied, deadpan. "His work with _criminals_ can be sometimes _dangerous_. Such is the price of being a defense attorney." 

_She knows_, Elsa thought dryly. _Everything thinks she doesn't, but this woman is no fool._

But the charade had to be maintained. 

"Tell me about _your_ little one," Amélie prodded, sensing Elsa's discomfort. _She knows that I know the truth, bless her heart._

"Aaron?" Elsa raised an eyebrow, surprised she had noticed the boy in the midst of all the chaos. But then, the wife and mother of two spies was probably more observant than most. "He's - " 

"Excuse me," a marshal cut in, "but you can go in now, ma'am." 

"Another time," Amélie smiled, standing. 

"Definitely," Elsa said, clasping her hand and rising too as Weiss shooed out Aaron. 

"Mrs. Vaughn?" A man questioned as she stepped toward her son's door. She nodded to him but didn't stop. 

"I'm Dr. Matthews and I've been treating Mr. Vaughn. May I come with you to describe his condition?" 

"Of course." 

* * *

"What are you doing?" 

"Insuring you have clearance to enter," Jack replied, pulling out his phone. 

Lauren nodded. She outranked even the Senior Agent, but access to the injured operative was rigidly limited to only a select few, regardless of status. "How's Agent Vaughn doing?" 

"I don't know," he replied. "Agent Weiss' reports from the hospital have been sporadic. I do know he's no longer on a respirator." 

Lauren raised an eyebrow at him. "You haven't been to see him yourself?" 

"No." 

* * *

Timidly, Amélie approached her precious child's bedside. Michel slept in sheer contentment, oblivious as a whole to the stress and dangers of his chosen profession. 

For a long time she sat and watched him, holding his hand and listening to his even breathing and the light beeping of the machines. The doctor had heeded her request and held nothing back in describing his condition. For her to sit here, knowing what he had been through… 

_Ay, Michel_, she thought, anguished. Why did he have to follow in William's footsteps? Why was he so set on sacrificing his own life for a country that would never know of his heroics? 

Why did she know he was right to feel that way, even if it meant she lost him like she had his father? 

He stirred in his sleep, murmuring a word she did not recognize. _Sydney?_ Amélie squeezed his hand, soothing him in ways only a mother knew. "_Vous êtes bien, bébé. Sommeil_," she murmured. ("You are well, baby. Sleep.") 

He obeyed without thought, subconsciously registering her presence. She smiled at him, proud beyond measure. 

But she had almost lost him. Amélie swallowed hard, cupping his chin in her hand and standing to kiss him on both cheeks with French delicacy. 

That had been close. Too close. 

Her caresses were enough to wake him this time and she waited patiently, flashing her dimples at the accomplished agent that would always be a child in her eyes. 

"_Bonjour, mon petit_," Amélie greeted her son. "_Comment allez-vous se sentant?_" ("Hello, my little one. How are you feeling?") 

He was alert enough to roll his eyes at the nickname. After all, he usually towered over her! "_Bonjour, maman. Je suis bien,_" he answered politely. ("Hi, mom. I'm fine.") His eyes fluttered again and he frowned. _Damnit, why am I so tired?_

She chuckled at what she knew he was thinking, reaching down with her free hand to tousle his hair. He automatically went to pull away in annoyance; a reflexive response to a game they had played for years. 

But this time, Vaughn couldn't help a wince at the even miniscule movements. Alarmed, Amélie touched his shoulder. "_Ne vous déplacez pas_," she ordered. ("You do not move.") 

He nodded, too tired to argue. She smiled again but he could see the tears in her eyes and it ripped him apart, knowing he was the cause for them. 

"_Maman_," he said, needing to ask. No one else would or could answer him. "_Avez vous - où est -_ Sydney?" ("Mom, have you - where is - Sydney?") 

Amélie frowned to herself. What was Sydney? Who was she? 

She looked down at her son, clearly seeing his anxiety for the woman he asked about. And another truth dawned on her… with Michel's clear worry for her evident, could she have something to do with his current condition in some way? 

"_Je n'ai pas_," she answered, noting how his face fell. "_Mais je suis venu vous voir_," she hastened to assure him. ("I haven't. But I came to see you.") 

He nodded, sighing deeply and closing his eyes again. His breathing gradually evened out and Amélie couldn't help but shake her head as he once more fell asleep. Her son could do that anywhere, anytime. 

But then a commotion outside the door startled them both. 

"Aaron!" the "lawyer" protested, following her son into the room. "Aaron, I told you no!" 

"I wanna see Mr. Mike before I go!" the child protested. Both mothers sucked in their breaths when Aaron bolted onto the bed before they could intervene, jolting a startled Vaughn awake. 

But thankfully, the child remembered himself and was very careful. "Goodbye," he said, giving him a ginger hug. "Sleep tight an' don't let the bedbugs bite!" 

Vaughn handed him a brilliant smile. _Neil Caplan is a very lucky man._ "I will," he promised solemnly. "You, too." 

Aaron nodded, hooking his pinky with Vaughn's left. "Okay!" he agreed. 

"Take care," Elsa said to him, gathering up her son. Amélie rose to join them, kissing her son before doing so. He didn't react at all, fast asleep before they withdrew even a step. 

* * *

"Agents Jack Bristow and Lauren Reed to see Agent Vaughn," Jack said to the two Marshals, surrendering his sidearm. Lauren shrugged, indicating she was unarmed. 

"Good timing," one marshal said politely. "Agent Vaughn's mother just stepped out for a break, and we're only supposed to allow one person at a time. Doctor's orders." 

"Oh," Lauren said, stepping back. "Agent Bristow, did you want to go first?" 

"Actually," the same marshal intervened carefully, "Since Agent Bristow has already been to visit several times while Agent Vaughn was still comatose, I was going to let you in first, Agent Reed." 

Studiously hiding any reaction to that information, Lauren squared her shoulders and strolled in the room, leaving Jack behind her to close the door. 

* * *

Brandon glared at his 3 "allies," frustrated and confused. 

"They were successful?" Kendall asked. 

The NSA Deputy Director nodded. 

* * *

Lauren grinned, relief flowing through her when she reached his side. Michael had color in his cheeks and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. _He'll be fine._

She reached over, squeezing his hand. He stirred, opening tired green eyes. He enjoyed his visitors, but they were quite taxing on him. 

"We have to stop meeting like this," she teased, keeping her voice pert. 

He chuckled, breath fogging the inside of the oxygen mask as he grinned sleepily at her. "So you came back, too?" 

"I did," she said agreeably. _Too? _"They're going to debrief me and such this 'arvo, but I wanted to see how you were." 

"Fine." 

"Clearly," she said, dropping the subject. She hesitated. _He knows where Cole is. Would he tell me, if I asked?_

"Hey - " Vaughn started to ask. 

_Not now, Lauren._ "Hmm?" 

He sighed, looking down the length of the bed. Lauren frowned, he looked rather dejected. 

"Agent Vaughn?" 

"I just - I know Sydney had to be debriefed, and she definitely should take some time to herself after everything… but I, well…" he flushed. _I miss her._

For her part, Lauren rested a hand on his forehead. _No fever…_

"Agent Vaughn," she said, her tone that of a mother talking to a clueless child. "Agent Bristow is still out in the field. She's not in debrief." 

Vaughn stared at her in abject horror, turning several shades of white. _Impossible. Eric told me he rescued us both. _

Didn't he? 

**- to be continued -**

_Question of the Day:_ Was Weiss right to lie to Vaughn?__


	48. Jailbreak

A tremendous **thank you** to new and old readers and reviewers! All of you make my day, and I hope you enjoy my story as much as I enjoy your comments! 

**_Chapter Forty Six - Jailbreak_**

He was not a dreamer. 

His life was practical. Logical. From the day his father died to now, Michael Vaughn had never been anything less. 

Until now. 

Helpless and recovering in a hospital bed, Vaughn had suddenly found himself dreaming. Each one was worse than the last. In his dreams, he was not the one tortured. 

_Sydney!_

In his dreams, he did not hold firm. He broke. Easily. Immediately. 

_Stop it, please! I'll do anything! Don't hurt her!_

In his dreams, his worst terrors came to life. 

_You never loved me, Vaughn! If you did, you'd stop this! You'd make them stop!_

Sometimes she died. Sometimes he died, too. But she always died first. 

_A true gentleman permits the ladies to go first, Mr. Vaughn. You can do what you've been doing. Watch._

And then he'd wake up, drenched in sweat, injured body on fire from thrashing, heart monitor beeping louder than any alarm clock. 

After two days, doctors replaced the restraints with his permission, explaining that his "episodes" were the reason why they had kept him bound during his coma. 

After four days, Amélie refused to leave his side. She would sleep during the day and sit with him at night, holding his hand and countering his nightmares with her soft, gentle lilt. 

_"Votre maman est ici, mon petit. Sommeil, Michel. Vous allez bien. Elle va bien. Sommeil,"_ she would soothe by repeating endlessly, blinking back tears of horror and rage at what she was witnessing.("Your mommy is here, my little one. Sleep, Michel. You are fine. She is fine. Sleep.") 

He had never seen his mother cry. Not when his father died, not when he left home to explore the world and follow William Vaughn's footsteps, not when they visited his grave together. Not once. 

Until now. 

* * *

"You could say thank you," Sark said as they sauntered toward Sloane's vacation home. 

"Or I couldn't," she retorted. "I prefer that option, thank you." 

He chuckled. "Come now, Sydney," he lectured. "I saved your life. Surely gratitude for my actions are not beneath your attention." 

She did smile at him then. 

"You always will be," she answered. 

* * *

"Excuse me, Director Kendall!" 

He turned from consulting with his three counterparts, raising an eyebrow. 

"There's a phone call for you, sir." 

"Who?" Lindsay interrupted, folding his arms across his chest. Kendall gritted his teeth at the man's blatant rudeness. 

"Neil Caplan, sir - uh, sirs. He claims to have been released." 

Brandon froze. Back from the hospital and sitting out of the way, a stunned Elsa bolted upright. 

* * *

Sydney stepped quietly, heels from her disguise tapping the wooden floor. The knapsack she cradled to her chest. Sark strode next to her, somehow moving with fluid silence. Cloaked in black, the younger man had a presence beyond his years. 

Just as he had seemed when he'd… 

_I've got you, Sydney! Hold on!_

It had been a trick, of course. A setup. Sark would never _willingly_… 

It had taken them four days to mesh themselves into the social circle of the town patriarch that controlled the NSA's hiding place, posing as young marrieds. And then another precious 24 hours for him to confirm with his superiors that he was to cooperate, for Neil Caplan's sake. 

News of Rambaldi's manuscript out of lockdown would make them a target of every major terrorist group. As much as Sydney had hated the delay, not doing so would have cost two innocent lives. 

But the clearance had come, leaving the two reluctant allies to "break into" the vault underneath the house. It should have been simple and easy, something both could have done in their sleep. 

But it hadn't been. And then Sark had saved her life, leaving her torn between genuine gratitude and burning hatred. 

* * *

The ride to the airport was the longest stretch of time Elsa would ever encounter. She shifted restlessly in the seat, willing the driver to go faster. Her joy was so tremendous that obvious questions - _Why would Irina Derevko just let him go?_ - weren't even computing. 

After Rick's announcement, Brandon had snatched the phone. Elsa had watched, heart swelling, as her husband confirmed his identity and his freedom with long-remembered vocal passcodes. 

With no reason to do otherwise, Kendall had then commissioned a van to meet Neil's plane. And here she sat, heart in her throat and hands in her lap. Will and Aaron would meet her there. 

_Please, let this be real_, she thought. _Please._

* * *

_"The vault is buried in a subbasement level of the mansion. To reach it, we actually have to _drop_ into a 30 foot hole, using a trapdoor. The floor of the vault is presumably concrete…" _

"I know." 

"Sydney. To do this, we have to trust each other." 

"Never. I trust your survival instincts, Sark. Not you." 

"I hardly think I am so undeserving." 

"I'm really broken up about that." 

* * *

"Mommy!" Aaron crowed, flying across the grass field and into her arms. "Daddy came home from work! Mr. Will said so!" 

"It feels like an odd word choice," Will said, catching up. "But uh, congratulations. I'm very happy for you." 

She laughed and still gripping her son, hugged Sydney's good friend. "Thanks for everything," she told him sincerely. He smiled at her. 

The plane's door opened and Neil appeared. One moment he was across the field from her, studying his family as though they were nothing more than a cruel illusion. 

And then he was in his wife's arms, their son sandwiched between them and the rest of their audience politely heading back to the vans to grant them privacy. 

"I love you," Elsa sobbed, showering him with kisses. "God, I love you so much!" 

Aaron looked up at his father, tiny finger raised in stern admonishment. "It's about time you came home, Daddy!" he lectured. 

Then and only then did Neil Caplan allow himself to cry. 

* * *

_"Agent Bristow, if you like, you may lower me down." _

"Right, Sark. Because I trust you in a vault full of who-knows-what." 

"Ah, but it would have made me less a gentleman to not offer. When you're ready?" 

"I am." 

* * *

"It's just a scratch, Elsa," Neil assured his wife as she sat holding his other hand, watching a nurse clean and bandage the wound on his lower left arm. 

A wound he had been forced to endure because of who she truly was. "Neil - " 

Glancing apologetically at the nurse for moving, he leaned over and kissed her. "Later," he said simply. All he wanted to do for the moment was enjoy his wife's presence. And his son's. Speaking of which… 

"Where's Aaron?" 

"Oh!" Elsa realized. "He's probably with Mr. Mike." 

"Who?" 

* * *

_"Sark! What the hell are you doing up there?" _

"The cable slipped!" 

"Then dammit, catch it!" 

"Trying! There's grease on it!" 

"Sark!" 

"I've got you, Sydney! Hold on!" 

* * *

"An' fishin' an' hikin' an' campfires an' walks an' drives an' reading an' even homework!" Aaron rambled. "Daddy's back! He said we'll do everything!" 

"Sounds great, buddy," Vaughn chuckled, cherishing the feeling of breathing on his own. Doctors had removed both the mask and the follow-up tubes just before the Caplans arrived, as a sort of test to to gauge where he stood. They had also mercifully removed the restraints before the little boy could see them. Not hooked up to anything for the first time in nearly two months, Vaughn could almost pretend he was back home in his own bed. 

Amélie laughed, propping Aaron up on her lap from where she sat in a chair next to her son. 

"You are so precious," she grinned. 

"I know," Aaron answered primly. 

A knock on the door startled the three of them, and Aaron all but leapt from Amélie's lap to dash to his father. 

"I missed you!" he sang out. 

"Me, too," Neil laughed, cheer fading when he saw Vaughn lying on a hospital bed in front of him. "Could you - " he asked the other people in the room. Elsa, Aaron and Amélie left wordlessly, with Vaughn's mother lightly squeezing his shoulder as she rose from the chair. 

"Hi," Neil said lamely. 

"Hi," Vaughn replied. 

"So," Neil said, sinking into the warm chair and gesturing haphazardly at the medical equipment. "What's all this?" 

"Annoying," Vaughn muttered. 

He laughed at that. 

"How are _you_?" Vaughn asked, not bothering to hide his anxiety. "When they took you out of that room…" 

"I woke up on a broken mattress," he said. "In Irina Derevko's custody." 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. 

"She told me she had a job for me to do, and if I did it, she'd let me go. I didn't believe her, of course. Not until she told me what she wanted me to do." 

"A job?" 

"Yeah," Neil said, shaking his head. He leaned forward, realizing Vaughn, currently elevated on pillows, was struggling to turn towards him. "Countering the device I built. Not overall, mind you, but for seven people. Seven out of four million." 

"Who?" 

"You, Sydney and Jack Bristow, myself, Aaron, Elsa and a woman named Lauren Reed." 

* * *

"I'm so happy for you," Amélie gushed, engulfing Elsa in a hug. 

"Thanks," Elsa smiled. "I just…. we have a lot to talk about, but we both…" 

"Bask in the moment," Amélie advised. "Your son can stay with us or Mr. Tippin." 

"Speaking of sons," Elsa changed the subject, her blush a dead giveaway that she had every intention of following Amelie's suggestion, "how's Michael doing?" 

She paused, the slightest hint of a frown marring her face. "Michel is rapidly improving, according to the doctors. He can sit up without assistance and seems to be breathing easier. He also stays constantly in motion; the doctors said that if we were to let him, he could stand or even walk on his own. As you saw, they actually removed all the tubes and IV needles for some random testing to see how he does on his own, and he has built up to four hours of breathing without assistance." 

"That's wonderful!" Elsa exclaimed, wondering at Amélie's less-than-happy mood. 

The older woman nodded. "It should be," she murmured to herself. 

"Amélie?" Elsa ventured. 

She sighed. "Whatever was done to Michel was… severe," she said at length. "He is fine when he's awake, but when he sleeps… he relives every moment. That's what I meant by staying in motion… he thrashes around so extremely that we have to restrain him at night." 

She paled. "I didn't know," Elsa stammered. "I'm sorry." 

She chuckled. "Nothing to apologize for. I - " she hesitated. 

Elsa waited. 

"I don't want to invade on your family, you've been through enough," Amélie whispered. "But from what Michel says aloud when he dreams… he never broke. He never gave his captors the privilege of hearing him beg. He just sat there and took whatever those horrible people dolled out, because he thought that Sydney Bristow might be forced to pay for any defiance on his part. He truly is William's son, and words cannot express how proud I am to call him mine." 

The younger woman shook her head, tears in her eyes. 

"I'm not foolish," Amélie said bluntly. "I know what he really endured, and I know what he truly does for a profession. I musn't say that, of course, because he believes he's protecting me by lying to me. But by holding back on what he experienced… he's only hurting himself more. And he doesn't care! The doctors have threatened to sedate him, the one thing he remains afraid of, because he simply refuses to relax and heal! All he cares about is that woman, regardless of what that does to his own health!" 

"I know how that feels," Elsa spoke before she could stop herself. "So does Neil." 

"I know," Vaughn's mother replied, somewhat dryly. "That's why I meant to ask… you can help him, Elsa. I'm his mother, but your family… you understand some elements of his life that I do not. That I cannot. That I _will _not. Once again, not meaning to intrude, but…" 

In response, Elsa engulfed her in a hug. "Your son saved all of our lives," she shared, knowing lies would cheapen her promise. "We'll do whatever we can." 

* * *

"That doesn't make any sense," Vaughn stammered, astonished. "How… why…?" 

Neil sighed, all but crushing his hands in his lap. "There's more," he muttered. "Irina let me have access to whatever I wanted to complete my task… she knew I wouldn't try anything with my family's lives on the line. I got all the information I could on this Reed woman, the only name I didn't recognize. She's working for Irina, which is why she was spared, but she's also working for herself." 

_Lauren was working for Irina_. Vaughn closed his eyes, suddenly even more exhausted. He had thought he met an ally, but he had been wrong. Very much so. Another thought occurred to him and he frowned, trying to puzzle it out. Why keep him alive? Why help him? For something Irina needed? 

For his part Neil waited, wondering if he shouldn't have elaborated until Vaughn was a bit stronger. When several seconds ticked by without response, he moved to rise, thinking that the younger man had fallen asleep. 

Meanwhile, Vaughn busily accessed all his memories concerning Lauren, from the first time they met and she had shown him mercy, to her talk with Sydney in the hidden room, to her seemingly genuine concern for him just hours prior. He had thought she was holding something back then, but her news about Sydney caused him to forget. 

"She wants revenge," he spoke up, stopping Neil in mid-step. "McKenas Cole killed her partner, and I know where he's held." _Which means she's still a mole for Irina, but possibly only for her quest to get even. She's not evil._

"He did," Neil agreed. "But McKenas Cole, though she denies it by using her mother's name, is also Lauren Reed's biological brother." 

Vaughn clenched his hands into fists. Cole had almost killed Sydney _and_ Jack, had dismissed the lives of the SD-6's duped (and knowledgeable) staff, had risked all for a bottle of Rambaldi liquid. 

Cole would have killed Sydney before he, Vaughn, would have known what exactly he had lost. 

The man was a monster that deserved his cell, but Vaughn owed his life and his freedom to a woman that had clearly meant to use him to find said terrorist. And either kill him or free him. 

"Look," Neil said uneasily. "I should have waited, I'm sorry. I just got out, but you… what happened, Michael?" 

"I tried to escape," Vaughn said, opting for the easier story that took less time to explain. "After they took you out of the room. I wasn't successful." 

Neil said nothing. That contradicted with what Irina had told him… but well, everyone had secrets. Spies even more so. "And you met Reed?" he asked, wondering at Michael's reaction. 

"She kept me alive," Vaughn said, voice distant as he puzzled over it. "And she made it possible for the Agency to pull me out." 

"Is she here?" 

"Debrief." 

Neil nodded. "You know," he said, hoping this made up for his knowledge-sharing gaffe. "The other agent - uh, Eric Weiss - went back to the office." 

Vaughn didn't blink. After learning Weiss had lied to him, Vaughn had talked to his guards and banned his best friend from his room, stunned and infuriated at the betrayal. 

"And Elsa and Aaron and your mother all went to grab a bite," Neil continued. "And even I outrank the two marshals outside your door." 

The light dawned. 

"_Only_ if I think you're up to it," Neil warned him. "But you could… step out for air. And in the process, happen to wander to wherever your Operations is. For answers." 

"They'd still notice the bed was empty," Vaughn replied dryly. "They might wonder where I went off to." 

Neil shrugged. "I'm up for a nap. I'll stay here and explain. A head start for you, anyway." 

Vaughn nodded, not needing to argue. "I owe you one," he muttered. 

Neil chuckled, watching the younger man move gingerly to dangle his legs off the bed. 

His mother had been right, Vaughn thought, his thrashing while asleep was far more effective than any physical therapy. He stood easily. 

"Here," Neil said, tossing a clothing bag on the bed from where someone had stuck it on an unoccupied bed next to his. Vaughn unzipped it, puzzled, and raised an eyebrow at the suit inside. 

"Mine," he said, wondering how it had gotten here. Moving slowly as to not aggravate his back, Vaughn bent and picked it up by the hanger. 

"I'll come back in 10 for the jailbreak," Neil said. 

And then he left to find his wife and prepare her a little for Amélie's reaction. 

* * *

"Ah, Sydney! Mr. Sark!" 

They pasted smiles on their faces, strolling together to join the couple relaxing on a couch. Both looked to be well-tanned and rested, ice cold drinks cradled in their hands. 

"Sydney!" Emily exclaimed. 

She ignored the woman, though Sark inclined his head gallantly. 

"A gift, Mr. Sloane," she said. "As requested." 

And then she handed him Rambaldi's manuscript. 

* * *

When Neil returned, Vaughn was fully dressed and waiting, lying carefully on the bed to even out his breathing from the effort of throwing on a suit. 

"Are you sure - " the older man started. 

"They'll send me back anyway," Vaughn muttered. "But if I could just get some answers, I'll be able to cope being stuck in here when they do. You know?" 

"Sounds like the place I just left," Neil drawled. "But okay." 

They traded places, fully-clothed Neil sinking on top of the blankets and pillows and closing his eyes appreciably. He couldn't remember the last time he had laid on a bed. A broken mattress yes, but nothing like this. 

Vaughn, meanwhile, headed for the door. Both marshals stared at him in astonishment as soon as they saw him, moving to block his way. 

"Excuse me," he said politely. 

"Agent Vaughn, you can't… you should be…" 

"Agent is my generic title," Vaughn said, flashing them a smirk trademarked by Weiss. "In reality, I'm a senior ops officer. That means I outrank you each about three times. Stand aside, please." 

"But you - " 

" - clearly am well enough to issue you an order, in any case. Stand _aside_, please. Mr. Caplan will wait here and explain things to my mother." 

They parted immediately, relieved at the news. This time, Vaughn's smirk was his own. _Je __t'aime, __Maman__._

And then he squared his shoulders and departed on his information quest. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next:_ Vaughn has a score to settle with Jack. And Weiss. And the world in general. 


	49. A Debt Repaid

On this very special and possibly confusing and multi-ship, 17-page-long Chapter 47, I want to thank everyone, from Chapter One on, who dropped by and left me their thoughts. I seriously consider myself very blessed for each and every bit of feedback I receive, and wish all of you lovely people a very lovely holiday! 

**_Chapter FORTY SEVEN - A Debt Repaid_**

"We can wait a bit longer. Michel doesn't like me in there when they ready him for bed…" Amélie flinched. "And I don't enjoy seeing what was done to him, I admit." 

She stood in the hospital gift shop, watching Elsa watch little Aaron run with tiny matchbox cars up and down the metal shelves. 

"But you said he was doing better," Elsa reminded. 

"He is," Amélie sighed. "But watching them change bandages… I should be grateful that he is healing properly, but to see my _mon petit_ in pain, and then to fully see his injuries…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "And I _wish_ I could say they just did that, but I also cannot stomach watching them strap him down like a nameless criminal. He told me not to fret, but he…" she shrugged helplessly. "He deserves better." 

"Your son is a strong person and I'm honored to know him," Elsa said, knowing Amélie _needed_ to let this out. "I have no doubt he'll be fine. He _is_ fine." 

Oblivious to the adults, Aaron ambled over and tugged on Amélie's jacket. "I have a question," he said, voice earnest. 

And just like that, the somber mood broke. "Yes, precious?" Amélie inquired, sinking down gracefully to his height. 

"Your name is pronounced funny," Aaron informed her. "Both of them." 

"Aaron!" his mother choked out, horrified.  


"I'm from a different country," Amélie said, fighting to hide her laughter. "So yes, my names may seem different." 

"They're not different, they're weird," Aaron dismissed. "I want it easy!" 

"What was your question?" the unflappable Amélie inquired, while Elsa buried her head in her hands. 

"Can I call you…" he frowned, lips pursed in thought. 

"Aunt Amy?" Amélie suggested. "If your mother approves, of course." 

"Perfect," said mother managed to approve, bright red. Problem solved, Aaron went back to his cars. 

"I am so sorry," Elsa groaned. 

Laughing again, she waved her off. "Your little one reminds me of my Michel," she chuckled. "That's probably why Michel thinks so fondly of him." 

"Speaking of Ag - of Michael, I was thinking Aaron could say good night to him before we dropped him off to Will?" 

"Of course," Amélie smiled. "He's probably been all settled in for the night, so now would be the perfect time. Let's pay for Aaron's toys and then return upstairs." 

* * *

"So I heard about Mike. How's he doing?" 

Weiss shook his head, slouching in his chair. "You know, Craig, I don't get it." 

The other agent sank down into Vaughn's chair, facing him. "Get what?" 

"Okay, you know when I almost died?" 

He nodded. "Darkness." 

"Yes - wait, huh?" 

Craig raised an eyebrow at him. "Mike told me." 

Weiss was aghast. "I poured my heart out to him and he _told_ someone?" 

"It was a very moving speech!" 

"Yeah, I know. Anyway, I spent like 3 months in the hospital, and was poked and prodded by like, every nurse and her mother. And I didn't get one phone number!" 

"Poor you." 

"And then here comes Mike, and I can't even look in on him without finding one nurse too many hanging around." 

"So Michael's fine then?" 

"According to the nurses he is," Weiss muttered, jealous. "Is there something wrong with me? One glimpse at him and the ladies _run_ from me." 

But Craig wasn't listening. Puzzled, Weiss followed his line of vision… and then bolted upright. 

Mike strode toward them, dressed to the nines in standard Hugo Boss, with no hint he'd been lying in a hospital bed just an hour before. 

"What are you doing here?" Eric hissed. 

Vaughn ignored him. "Rick?" he called, not batting an eye when the man seemingly materialized out of nowhere, per usual. 

"Good to see you," the tech greeted him. "How are you feeling?" 

"Fine," Vaughn replied. "Is Agent Reed somewhere in the building? Or Kendall? Or Jack?" 

"Reed and Kendall are in a closed door debrief, but you can talk to Agent Bristow," Rick offered. "He's in a conference room listening to Sark's transmitter, I'll walk you." 

"I'll walk him," Weiss intervened, grabbing his friend's arm and nodding in satisfaction when Vaughn winced as he pulled away. _You shouldn't be out of bed yet, buddy._

Rick shrugged and walked off, leaving the three alone. Only then did Vaughn look at Weiss, who blanched at the anger in his eyes. 

"Mike, my man!" Craig said into the tension. He moved to smack Vaughn on the back, remembered himself, and shook his hand instead. 

Vaughn sighed, grip firm. "I'm not made of glass," he said dryly. 

"You are on the court," Craig mused. "So I forgot you're not here. Sue me." 

Awkward silence, while Weiss wondered at Vaughn's anger and Craig realized what was going on. 

"Listen, good to see you," he said. "Catch you later, Daddy?" 

"You bet," Vaughn smiled, clapping him on the arm. 

Craig nodded and escaped, leaving the two of them alone. 

"Michael - " Weiss started. 

"You lied to me," Vaughn cut him off. "And you know what? I can understand why you did. But that doesn't change the fact that when I asked you about Sydney, you took advantage of my condition and _lied_ to my face!" 

"It was for- " 

"Don't tell me it was for my own good! I'm not a _child_, Eric. I am fully capable of making decisions for myself!" 

Weiss sighed. "You say that," he challenged. "But then you show up here! You should still be on oxygen, Michael. In _bed_. Not here and working yourself up over something you can't control anyway!" 

Vaughn ignored him. "Where is she?" 

"She?" 

"Eric. I want to hear it from you, not a woman I hardly know." 

He sighed, bracing himself. "She's still with Sloane." 

Something in Vaughn shattered, though he held himself erect. "You told me you had pulled us both out. We had a whole chat on that, remember?" 

"I did," Weiss agreed quietly. "Had I told you right away…" he grimaced. "Michael buddy, you may have banned me from your room, but I know you haven't been sleeping well." 

Vaughn frowned, dropping his head and shifting his feet. As far as he was concerned, that was none of Eric's business. 

"But when we brought you in… I meant what I said about your _energy_, and you were even more _animated_ that day than anything you've done here while sleeping. Telling you then would have done more harm than good, and I stand by my decision." 

"See, that's not a decision you can just make!" Vaughn hissed. "You had _no_ right - " 

A door opened, interrupting the two of them. Vaughn watched, still steaming, as a haggard-looking Jack stepped out and headed for his desk, apparently taking a break. 

"Stay here," Vaughn ordered Eric, walking as fast as he could to join the man. The world abruptly spun and he halted, shaking his head to clear it from sudden dizziness. Weiss coughed unobtrusively behind him, wondering how much longer his friend would last before fainting in front of everyone. _Serves him right for coming here_, Eric thought childishly. 

"I mean it," Vaughn snapped, once he'd collected himself again. Eric held his hands up in surrender. Warily, Vaughn turned and again headed toward Jack, though his movements were much slower. Weiss didn't bother to hide his smirk. 

* * *

"I hope he's not already sleeping," Aaron whispered loudly. "I wanna show him my new cars!" 

"You can wake him up if he is," Amélie promised, holding his other hand. She and Elsa grinned at each other over his head. "Just this once." 

"Really?" Aaron bounced in between the adults, jumping up and down. 

"Just this once," Elsa repeated. "Those are some pretty neat cars." 

"I know, mom!" Aaron said, voice clearly asking _where have _you _been?_ Amélie laughed again. How she loved this little family! 

They rounded the corner to Vaughn's room, knowing the marshals wouldn't dare to enforce the one-visitor rule with Amélie Vaughn. 

Neil bolted upright when they walked in. All three of the new arrivals froze, noting a certain agent's absence immediately. 

* * *

"We released him, as per your orders." 

Irina perched on a stool, scanning Neil's notes intently. She didn't bother to turn at the guard's words. 

The man shifted his feet, wishing he hadn't drawn the short straw that had elected him to stand in her presence. 

"Ma'am," he forced himself to say. "I don't mean to question you, but the prisoner knew about you and all of us… was letting him go wise?" 

Still turned away from him, Irina didn't bother to aim when she suddenly pulled a gun out from her belt, held it behind her, and fired, the bullet gliding a few precious inches above his right shoulder to embed itself in the wall behind him. 

The man froze, his mouth forming an 'o' of surprise. 

"Do that again," Irina said, her back still to him as she replaced her pistol, "and next time, I won't miss." 

"Ma'am," the man stammered, face as white as his t-shirt. 

She turned to face him then, the hint of a smile on her lips. "I know what I'm doing," she said. "Always." 

* * *

"Excellent," Sloane all but gushed. 

He was allowed a moment of levity. After all, Sydney Bristow, who had once done all she could to handicap his efforts to explore Rambaldi's artifacts, had just handed him the key to the prophet's teachings on a silver platter. 

"So Mr. Vaughn came through then," Sark said mildly into the silence. 

Sydney stiffened. As far as she was concerned, no one in this room had the right to even mention his name. He was too good for all them, including _her_. 

But Sark, standing right next to her as they looked down at Sloane and Emily, gave her a _look_. 

_Sydney_, he thought, irritated. _I'm trying to save his life for you! Pull it together!_

"Indeed," Sloane mused, carelessly. He had the manuscript, anything else simply didn't concern him anymore. 

"Arvin," Emily spoke up, voice full of steel. 

Her husband forced himself to focus and smiled at her, draping an arm over her shoulder. "Relax, sweetheart. I never break a promise. He proved his value and has thus earned himself more time… provided Sydney has no objections?" 

"What?" Sydney asked, thrown both by Sloane's promise assertion and what he was asking her. Sloane honestly thought _she_ would want him to order Vaughn's death? Was she that good an actress? 

Because if she was… Sydney repressed a shudder. 

"As long as he is useful and cooperative," she heard herself say, as carelessly as Sloane had sounded earlier. "I will postpone my vengeance." 

"We appreciate your magnanimity," Sark replied. 

Sydney barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Sark seemed to be running hot and cold… joking and confiding in her one moment, and reminding her just what a heartless bastard he was the next. The younger man had made no secret of his disinterest in Vaughn's health, even though the ops officer was, by Kendall's orders, Sark's direct superior. 

"Now you're mocking me," she snapped back. 

Sark shrugged. "Yes," he agreed. 

* * *

Jack didn't bother to look up when he became aware of someone standing in his shadow. 

"You're on medical leave, Agent Vaughn." 

No response. Jack sighed and glanced behind him, where his daughter's current arm decoration stood. 

"That means you shouldn't be here." 

"You're right," Vaughn snapped. "_Sydney_ should be." 

Jack sighed again, rising out of his chair. "At least sit down," he directed, gesturing toward it. 

_So you can tower over me?_ Vaughn wondered, even as he obeyed the order and moved to sit. The gentle movement traveled up and down his back, and he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath as lines of fire lanced up his spine. _Painkiller's wearing off_, he realized, dropping into the chair with far less grace than intended and perching himself on the very edge of the leather. Jack had yet to bat an eye, thankfully. 

Though Vaughn doubted the man would have cared if he had noticed. 

"You served your purpose," Jack told him bluntly. "Sark is now fully integrated into a partnership with Sloane. Sydney also established her cover. You were nothing more than an expendable distraction, and I will not risk my daughter's life in such a way. _That's_ why I arranged for your rescue. Leaving you there meant I left a timebomb for her to foolishly blow her cover." 

Vaughn hesitated. When Jack Bristow felt strongly about something, it was enough for all near him to either flee or nod stupidly and not dare to say a word in opposition. 

But he was a man ruled by emotion, not logic. For the most part. So he forced himself to look up and meet the man's unreadable look with one of his own. 

"You may have pulled me out, and I am grateful for that," Vaughn said at length. "But if by doing so you caused Sydney's death, I promise you Jack, I'll kill you myself." 

And then, without another word, he stood up in one fluid motion that hid the pain he felt and walked away. 

* * *

"Daddy!" Aaron exclaimed. "What're you doing in Mr. Mike's bed? Where's Mr. Mike?" 

"A very good question," Amélie growled. 

"Michael… stepped out," Neil said awkwardly. Mike's mother was even more frightening than an angry Elsa and that, well, was impossible. 

"A man that was in a coma two weeks ago does not just 'step out'," Amélie gaped. "Where did my idiot son go _to_?" 

Neil pulled himself off Vaughn's very comfortable bed reluctantly to join Elsa and Aaron. "He went to the firm," he lied, with the ease of a man that had lied to his wife from their very first date. 

But Amélie scowled. She knew the truth, thanks much, and was not in the mood for more cover stories. 

"Well, I'm sure Will Tippin would like to meet you," Elsa said to her husband, trying to fill the silence. "He's already offered to take Aaron for us." 

"Where will we go?" Neil asked, eyebrow raised. She smiled, resting her head underneath his chin. 

"Home," she all but whispered. "They have an escort waiting." 

Neil flushed, draping an arm over his wife. He understood Amélie's worry for Mike, and didn't want to appear insensitive, but… 

"Go," Amélie said, sinking into a chair by the empty bed. 

"Oh, Amélie," Elsa said warmly. "We'll wait until Michael's whereabouts are confirmed." 

Neil nodded. "Least we can do," he said, and Amélie glanced at him, acknowledging at his unspoken apology. 

But then Vaughn's mother shook her head. "My son will reappear only when he chooses, and rest assured he will never leave this room again without my consent," she muttered, voice just above a growl. Even the guards outside the door stiffened to perfect attention at her tone. "Elsa darling, you just got your husband back. Now is not the time to concern yourself with my boy's foolishness. _Go_." 

"All right," Elsa agreed, torn between desire to leave Aaron here and explore the empty room next door with her husband - their house was so far away and it had been so long! - and genuine worry for Vaughn. "But call us the moment you hear from him." 

"I will," Amélie promised, underlying menace obvious. "Once he is settled in once more." 

Neil grinned to himself. _Wherever you are, kid_, he thought, _you have my pity when you come back and she gets her hands on you._

"Come on, honey," he said aloud, lightly pulling her and his son towards the door. "We'll come back and visit." 

"When he's not sleeping!" Aaron insisted. 

"Yes, of course," Neil drawled. "Evening, _Madame_." 

"Have a good night," Amélie said, pasting on a smile. 

* * *

Eric met Michael in the corridor, raising an eyebrow at his increasingly jilted breathing. 

"I thought Jack was going to shoot you in the face," his friend drawled. 

"He probably will," Vaughn muttered, frustration growing. Why did he feel like such a invalid? Why did everything have to hurt so much? And for that matter, why was breathing suddenly so difficult? 

He glanced sideways, growling under his breath at the _look_ Eric was giving him. "Not one word." 

"I won't say just one," his friend replied, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Stop being stubborn, _Mikey_. You aren't ready to be out of the hospital and you just ran out of adrenaline." 

Vaughn shook his head, instantly regretting it when dizziness registered. "I hate this," he said, then paused. Had he said that aloud? 

Chuckling, Weiss stepped closer and lightly held his arm, insuring his friend wouldn't have to experience a humiliating faint in the Operations building. "Me too," he said. "Now. Can you handle a car ride from yours truly, or should we call someone?" 

But Michael glared and tried to step away, though Eric immediately gripped him tighter. _I'm helping you whether you want me to or not, Mike._

"I'm not going back to the hospital. I need to work on getting Syd home, and I can't do it from there." 

"Oh, you're going back," Eric informed him when he bothered to stop laughing. "Even if I have to knock you out myself and call a 'chopper. And then I'll personally tell the doctor to keep you unconscious until you _can_ leave. Your choice, idiot." 

"But Sydney - " 

" - would kick your ass if she saw what you were doing! This is not a debate, Michael." 

"Eric - " 

" - and if you tell me you're not a child, _I know._ Although, gotta say, most kids aren't this dumb. I wasn't. Now, are we going or do I need to find a brick?" 

Vaughn sighed. Blood was beginning to soak through his bandages, and he could feel it dripping down his back. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea._

"Michael?" 

"We're going." 

"Good." 

* * *

"My agreement with Emily means I have no contact with the Villa while we are here," Sloane informed them. 

Sydney bit her lip. It wasn't like Sloane to put himself at a disadvantage like that. _He really does love her_, she thought, noting Emily's look of gratitude at her husband. 

"I have some things I'd like to say to Va - to Mr. Vaughn, if I can," she said, thinking quickly. Sloane would probably send Sark otherwise, and Lord knew how that would turn out. "I can go back to the Villa and inform the guards of your decision." 

But Sloane knew better. "Mr. Sark, accompany Ms. Bristow." 

* * *

"Dr. Matthews! Any word?" 

The man shook his head. A strand of graying brown hair, just long enough to make him seem unlikely for his profession, fell in his eyes. "I was about to ask you the same question, _Madame_." 

Amélie clenched her hands into fists. They stood in Vaughn's room, the silent phone inches away from their grasps. "Foolish," she growled. "What was he thinking?" A new thought occurred to her and she snapped her head up, green eyes alarmed. "Will this set him back in his recovery?" _Could he have damaged himself permanently in his stupidity?_

"That we won't know until he decides to come back," the doctor answered. "But I must say, in all my years here… I've never seen a patient walk out like Mr. Vaughn did." He smiled, trying to calm the frantic mother. "Your son has tremendous courage." 

"I know," she sighed. "I know." 

They paused, Amélie again watching the phone and the doctor trying to think of ways to keep her occupied. 

"I had planned to discuss with Mr. Vaughn his probable timetable," he blurted at length. 

"Timetable?" 

He nodded. "Considering his injuries… especially to his back… I had estimated his length of recovery in bed to last 8-10 weeks. Of course, that was before he took action that will possibly aggravate his wounds further." He inclined an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "To be honest, I didn't consider him capable of sitting up unassisted for more than an hour, let alone leaving on his own power." 

Amélie laughed to herself. "You say 8 to 10 weeks? _Médecin_ Matthews, with all due respect, my son will fuss about 8 _days_, let alone even a couple of weeks. He has what I believe you Americans refer to as White Knight Syndrome, and simply will not allow himself the chance to heal until he rescues his damsel." 

"Yes," the doctor, long a trusted practitioner for injured CIA Agents and with clearance that rivaled even Vaughn's replied, amused. "I suspected that. But my duty supercedes his, I'm afraid." 

"Oh?" 

"My duty is to ensure your son returns to full health. If he himself wishes to interrupt that process again, well…" he smirked, feeling years younger, " I'm afraid I outrank him, so to speak. Once he arrives and you are finished with him, _Madame_, I have every intention of reminding him who issues the orders in my hospital." 

"Hypothetically speaking, of course," Amélie drawled. 

"Of course," he answered. He leaned in closer to her, dead serious. "_Madame_, I know he objected to needles of any kind after he awoke, probably because of something he experienced while a captive. But I have already requested a light sedative that I'll run through a constant IV line. Until he shows he is as concerned about his health just as much as we are…" 

"I'm his mother," Amélie said quietly. "If he protests… I'll authorize it myself." 

Dr. Matthews nodded, relieved. It was something that would never happen in a normal hospital… but he was under orders from four different agencies to have the spy back to field-ready status as soon as possible. If worst came to worst, he could somehow convince Amélie Vaughn to take a breather and explain what was really going on to the agent himself. In fact, he'd probably do that anyway. 

"I'm going to head down to the lobby and pass some time," Amélie said. "If Michel was going to call me, he would have done so." 

"I'll ready the needle and get him a gown," he said as she left. 

* * *

"Do they suspect anything?" 

"No sir," Lauren said, almost thankful that she could get this over with. Kendall had stepped out, leaving the two of them alone. "Sark, Sloane and even Derevko never once questioned me." 

"Excellent," Lindsay mused. He smirked to himself. "What about the rest of them?" 

She gritted her teeth. "The CIA never did so, either." 

* * *

"Michel!" 

Amélie's voice filled the hospital lobby, and Vaughn groaned. Lightly holding his arm so he stayed upright and striving to avoid touching his back, Weiss chuckled. "You earned this, buddy." 

"_Idiot __enfant_!" Amélie exploded, bodily taking Vaughn from Weiss. He flinched, his mother's rage swirled around her in palpable waves. "_Où avez-vous été?_" ("Idiot child! Where have you been?") 

"I - " he started, trying to pull his arm away as she hustled him toward the elevator. Eric followed, chortling to himself. 

She tightened her grip, genuinely not concerned about hurting him at the moment. "_J'ai été inquiété, garçon!_" ("I was worried, boy!") 

"_Je n'ai pas souhaité cela, maman_," Vaughn sighed. ("I didn't wish that, Mom.") 

She ignored him, pulling him inside when it dinged. Still amused, Eric pressed the button that would return him to his room. 

"_Maman__, __vraiment__ - _" Vaughn tried again. ("Mom, really - ") 

"How did you think I would react?" Amélie retorted in flawless English, finally noticing they were not alone in the elevator. "_Michel Christopher Vaughn_, you cannot just leave the hospital when it suits you!" 

"I just wanted - " 

"I came to find you gone," Amélie hissed to him. The doors slid open and she hustled him down the hallway with a look that _dared_ him to object. He gulped and studied the floor. "You claim to be an adult, yet you attempt this rubbish!" 

How did she always manage to leave him feeling like an unruly five year old? 

"_Maman_, I just wanted to learn - " 

They had arrived, and she tugged him inside none-too-gently. "Get undressed," she ordered, tossing a clean hospital gown at him from where it lay waiting on the bed. He caught it reflexively and then forced himself to hide a gasp as the movements pulled on his back. "And then I will find Dr. Matthews. He had some words to say to you, as well." 

_Great._

"This is where I leave you both," Weiss spoke up, startling the pair. "Mike - " he started. Vaughn raised an eyebrow, green eyes still far from friendly. "I am sorry," he said at last. 

Vaughn nodded. "I know," he sighed. 

Their friendship restored, Weiss left to sounds of Amélie fussing over her son, helping him undress and carefully climb back onto his heavily-pillowed bed. 

* * *

_It's too quiet._

Sydney strolled into the Villa with the cat-like confidence she had inherited from her parents. Much to her chagrin Sark glided alongside her, staying easily in step. 

"Much too quiet," the younger man said, frowning. 

She scowled at the echo of her thoughts, even as she scanned the perimeter. Sloane had left Lauren and six men to guard Vaughn, having learned the hard way to never underestimate him. Where was everyone? 

"Go find the staff," she ordered Sark. "I'll go check on Vaughn." _Because he's okay,_ she added silently to herself. _This doesn't look good, but it doesn't matter. He's fine._

But he didn't move from her side, crossing his arms lightly over his shirt. "You need me to open the doors, Agent Bristow. They respond to my voice." 

Glaring furiously, Sydney gestured for him to precede her. The walk to the cellar door and down the stairs took an eternity. 

Stepping closer to the door, Sark tossed a smirk over his shoulder. "For what it's worth," he said, "I fail to see any urgency." 

She gave him a look that would have melted steel, a look mastered by her parents. Suddenly understanding, he turned and hastily held the doors open for her. She stepped through immediately. 

And then froze. 

The bed was empty. 

Sydney stared with primal terror at the blood-dotted, _empty_ cot. _I left him here! Helpless! Vulnerable! _And then her mind caught up with her. _With that guard! _

She whirled on Sark, hands curling into fists. "The guard - Diego," she growled. "_Where is he?_" 

* * *

Vaughn closed his eyes. Nurses had come in to replace his oxygen, seen his condition and offered him pills, blessedly helping to mute the inferno that was once was his back, but the pain was still there. Plus, he was bleeding all over the pillows. The back of his suit jacket and shirt, which his mother had helped him take off, had been _drenched_ with the sweet/sour mess. 

_Not a good idea, at all._

His mother sat beside him, of course. She'd tried to hold his hand, something soothing regardless of age, but that had required him moving. Which had hurt. A lot. So he lay there, jaw clenched and eyes half-closed, trying to ignore the fact that one glance of unmasked terror from his _Maman_ hurt more than any number of blows from a metal-lined leather strap. 

Footsteps sounded outside his door, and the hospital's chief-of-staff, David Matthews, appeared seconds later. The man was holding something in his hands, but Vaughn had to move to see what it was, making that possibly the lowest possible thing on his list of priorities. For the time being, he was spent. 

"_Madame_ Vaughn," the doctor said, deciding to get this over with. "May I speak to my patient alone, please?" 

She hesitated, meeting his gaze. "Of course," she murmured, rising. 

Dr. Matthews waited until he knew she was gone before approaching the bed. "Agent Vaughn?" 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. _Interesting_. As far as the doctor should have been concerned, he was a lawyer! "My name's Michael," he said. _Lord!_ Even talking pulled at his back. 

"My name's David," he said, still standing an arm-length away. "But you can call me _Sir_." 

"Oh?" 

"I'm retired now," he said. "But I was a senior agent at the Agency for more than twenty years, and I kept my clearance via my medical doctorates when I came to work here." 

Vaughn sighed. _Smart there, Mike._ Of course Kendall would have arranged for him to be in a CIA-sanctioned hospital. 

He was so annoyed at his lapse in common sense, and still in too much pain to even open his eyes, that he failed to notice that the man had stepped closer. One decisive daub later, he jerked at the feeling of a needle in his arm. 

"What - " he started to protest. 

"My orders are to have you recover as fast as possible," the doctor informed him. "And well, Agent Vaughn, so far _you_ are the biggest obstacle towards those orders." 

Vaughn shook his head wildly, ignoring the pain that caused. "I made it clear - " 

"I'll keep this low enough so that it doesn't force you to sleep, but will act as a painkiller and probably _encourage_ you to sleep," David said, ignoring him. "And it will stay that way until you realize you're no good to anyone until you _get well_." 

"You can't drug me without my consent!" Vaughn gaped. 

"This is a CIA hospital, and like I said, I outrank you," David growled. "And on a personal note, son, your mother and your friends were scared shitless. Part of being a doctor is protecting all life, and that includes their mental health." 

"But - " Vaughn was beyond outraged, though more at himself than anyone else. _He's right and you know it._

David responded by starting the drip. True to his word, he kept it light. Vaughn drew in a breath as the serum simply washed away any pain he felt. The heavy weariness that set in moments later seemed a small price to pay. 

"I'll get nurses to deal with your back," David said. "Probably another gown, new bedding, new bandages, the works." 

But he didn't reply. The world swirled in front of Vaughn's eyes, his suddenly agony-free existence almost too much of a relief. 

Dr. Matthews smiled to himself, watching as Vaughn fully drifted off. He'd have the nurses turn up the sedative while they worked, but then turn it back down. He had promised, after all. 

"And stay there," he muttered under his breath as he left the room. 

* * *

"I - " Sark started to say, annoyed at being questioned. As beautiful as Sydney was, even she could push him too far. _I don't know, Sydney._

"I am here," an accented voice said. Both Sark and Sydney whirled, Sydney's hand flying to her gun in the process. 

"You hurt him," Sydney said, trembling with rage. 

"He killed my brother," the guard snapped back, limping into the room. "He deserved what I gave him, and then some!" 

"Sydney - " Sark warned. The man was taking advantage of her distraction to pull a spare gun free from behind his back… 

An effort that died. Without blinking, Sydney launched herself off the side of the cot, brutally tackling Diego. He twisted under her, fighting to get free. 

But stopped short, body turning to stone when she cocked the gun and pressed it underneath his chin. 

"I knew this," Diego mocked. "The Agent's friends came and took him. And not as a prisoner, but as an ally. And when I tell Sloane about _all_ of you…" he included a disinterested Sark in his gaze, "you will all pay." 

"You think so?" Sydney smiled. 

Inside, however, she was adrift in a chaotic, uncontrollable sea of emotion. Relief for Vaughn - _Weiss got him. He's home. He's safe._ - Anger - _This sonofabitch thinks he can hurt _my_ boyfriend and just walk away!_ - Duty - _My cover could already be compromised. Killing him could only seal my own death_ - Love - _Vaughn, I love you. I love you so much! I _will_ tell you that soon._ - Revenge - _Everything you did to him I'll do to you._ - Guilt - _I can't kill a man in cold blood!_ - Confusion - _Where do I go from here? _- Resignation - _If I don't kill him, he'll either kill me or make sure I die._

So she pinned him down even more securely with her knee, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next:_ There are always consequences when one threatens Jack. Nice going, Vaughn. 


	50. Inpromptu Debrief

**_Chapter Forty Eight - Impromptu Debrief_**

Vaughn sighed, stretching carefully and luxuriously without opening his eyes. He was so tired, and the IV didn't help… light enough to allow him to stay awake if he really fought to do so, but otherwise successful in knocking him out in short order. So he spent the majority of his time dozing, unaware of his surroundings, and trusting the US Marshals guarding outside the door to warn him if needed. 

Which is why he almost fell off the bed when Jack Bristow suddenly spoke from right above his head. 

"I see now how you ended up in this condition," Sydney's father said, carelessly leaning on the side of the cot and looking down at him. 

"Jack - " Vaughn stammered. 

"You've got much to learn, Mr. Vaughn," Jack interrupted drolly. "Such as not making idle threats you are not immediately able to carry out." 

"Jack - " 

"Further endangering your health by coming into Operations without authorization from the hospital - " 

"_Jack_ - " 

"_Interrupting_ your superior - " 

Vaughn gulped and fell silent. 

"Risking your life in the first place!" Jack's voice hardened. "Listen up, Mr. Vaughn. You're only going to hear this once." 

Vaughn braced himself. The man sounded like he was going to ask for last words. 

"You belong to my daughter," Jack told him icily. "That means, Mr. Vaughn, that your life is _not_ yours to risk, because my daughter's happiness would end with your death. And when she's not happy, I…" he trailed off. 

"Jack - " Vaughn blurted, astonished. _Was that… does that mean…?_

"Do so again," Sydney's father railroaded. "And I'll kill you myself, understood? Sydney will at least have a concrete answer regarding your fate, which is more than you were willing to give her." 

"Jack!" Vaughn groaned, trying to participate in the conversation. 

But the elder Bristow responded by reaching over and turning up the sedative feed. Unable to fight the effects, Vaughn relaxed instantly. The last thing he heard was Jack's voice. 

"Sleep and recover. That's an order. I'm going to extract my daughter, and I will need backup to do so. Like it or not, that's you." 

Jack waited a few more moments, watching to insure that his daughter's love slept peacefully. Satisfied, he gathered his jacket and then strolled toward the door, nodding politely to the ever-present bodyguards standing outside. Yet another detail he had ordered… Sloane's cruelty and fascination with Sydney meant that Michael Vaughn would forever be a useful tool to him. Only the most foolish would have allowed him to remain without protection while he recovered. 

With one final backward glance at the boy, Jack turned on his heel to head down the hall… and walked right into a shorter blonde woman. Again. But unlike the NSC Agent, this one looked up and speared him with sharp green eyes, meeting his look without blanching. 

"Who are you?" she demanded, fearlessly. "What business do you have with my son?" 

Jack's eyebrows shot up. _So this is William's wife._ "Jack Bristow," he introduced himself carefully, wondering if she would recognize his name. 

But not a spark of recognition entered her eyes. Chilling, that. She stood next to the husband of her husband's murderer, but her son had clearly taken his Agency oath to heart and never broken the Bristows' confidance. Jack's respect for the younger agent grew. 

"Amélie Vaughn," she said, accepting his proffered hand. "Do you work with Michel?" 

"I'm his manager," Jack lied smoothly, uncertain of Vaughn's cover story. 

She nodded, a look of sheer innocence on her face. "I had no idea there were this many lawyers in Los Angeles," she said, her accent adding to her seeming obliviousness. "It seems everyone on this floor, visitors _and_ patients, are in that field." 

"Yes," Jack said. What could he say to that? "I wanted to check on Mr. Vaughn's condition, but I should be getting back. To the firm." 

He stepped past her carefully, started down the hallway… 

"Mr. Bristow!" 

He turned. Amélie shook her head at him, suddenly appearing years older. 

"Because of Michel's dreams, I know exactly who you are," she said quietly. "If I had things my way, you would not be allowed within 10 yards of my son and myself." 

He frowned but remained silent. 

"But I know what my son means to you, and what you mean to him," Amélie continued. She rubbed her forehead, running an exhausted hand through her hair. "And as long as that continues… I'd like for you to come back." 

Jack nodded, his respect for the firecracker of a woman in front of him growing in spades. "Well, thank you," he said, somewhat dryly. He didn't need her permission to do anything… but he understood that what she said to him could have been far worse. 

"You're welcome." 

* * *

"Well," Sark said, watching as Sydney rose from the nearly headless body and wiped splattered blood off her face. "I'd say you just blew your cover." 

She shook her head, not even hearing him. "What happened here, Sark?" she demanded. Traces of blood left on her neck and clothing only served to enhance her anger. 

"I know as much as you do," he answered. "Though it seems your Mr. Vaughn is at least back in CIA hands, and possibly even the States themselves." 

She nodded, holstering the gun. If only she could get confirmation… 

And then her eyes widened. _The stet phone!_

* * *

The last time she had practiced words to say, it had been prom night and William's friends had warned her he intended to propose. 

Amélie sat, of course, by her sleeping son's bedside. He had yet to stir after the husband of her husband's murderer had decided to happen by for a visit, probably due to the fact that his sedative feed had apparently turned _itself _up. Dr. Matthews had remedied that, of course, carefully hiding his amusement. _Classic Jack Bristow._

And there she went again. Amélie groaned, running her hands through her hair. She puzzled herself sometimes. Michel Christophé Vaughn, the last gift her husband had given both to her and the world, was not a child. Their son was an accomplished, brilliant, skilled, capable and talented adult, and that didn't even take into account the parts of his life she was not permitted to know about. 

Which meant her display to him in the hospital lobby, while well-meaning, had been wholly inappropriate. What was the matter with her? Lost in worry in what had been and what she knew would inevitably come, coupled with memories of losing her husband, she had abandoned control and publicly humiliated their sweet son. How could she? 

He stirred, the drug finally wearing off. Taking a deep breath, she reached over and took his hand, smiling in relief when he didn't seem to even feel her. Hours before, her mere touch had been agonizing to him. 

"_Bonjour_," she whispered, leaning over and resting her cheek on his hand. 

"_Bonjour_," he replied, voice scratchy. His head pounded and his tongue was a solid mass of rubber. Had the doctor broken his promise and turned up the IV, or had he somehow gotten ahold of Stoli? Because the last time he had such a tremendous hangover, he had been in college. 

And then he remembered. _Jack._

Amélie cleared her throat. "_J'ai voulu_…" she started, then stopped. The best way to show respect to her _mon petit_ was to apologize in the language he had chosen to live by. "I wanted to apologize," she said. 

Vaughn's forehead creased, the foreign sound of his mother speaking to him in English was utterly bewildering. 

"_Maman_?" 

She laughed, shaking her head. He relaxed at the sound, noting that the room itself brightened and the sun coming in through his window seemed to intensify with warm, soft light. 

"I look at you," she said, "and I see your father sometimes." 

He froze. 

She reached over, smoothing his hair back with her free hand. "You have his honor, Michel. And his beauty, both in and out. I never say this enough, but I am so proud of you!" 

He blushed at that, though he glowed at the praise. She laughed again. "When William was embarrassed, his ears would turn red too." She leaned down and kissed him. "That must give you away in the _courtroom_." 

And just like that, the warm mood abated. He swallowed hard, averting his eyes. 

She squeezed his hand, sensing his unease. _I know you hate lying to me, Michel._ "But what I said to you in the lobby was wrong, and I apologize. I just… you just…" she shook her head, abandoning the English language. _Not enough words._

"_Permettez-vous-même de récupérer! Pourquoi vous n'êtes pas?_" she demanded. ("Allow yourself to recover! Why are you not?") 

"_Maman - "_ insane though it was, Vaughn couldn't help but feel relieved as the world returned to normal and his mother reverted to yelling at him in _Français_. 

"_Je m'excuse de traiter vous comme un enfant. Je sais que vous n'êtes pas. Mais pourquoi l'acte comme celui?_" ("I apologize for treating you as a child. I know you're not. But why act like one?") 

"_Maman_ - " 

"Michel! _Pour partir... risquer plus de douleur.. Je ne comprends pas!_" ("To leave… to risk more pain… I do not understand!") 

"_Personne ne m'indiqueraient quelque chose! Personne ne me répondraient!_" Vaughn finally exploded. ("No one would tell me anything! No one would answer me!") 

Amélie paused. She could count on one hand the number of times her very good _mon petit_ raised his voice to her. 

"Yes, I'm injured," Vaughn said impatiently, heatedly, too incensed to notice he had switched languages. "But I am still the same man! My talent is to gather facts and act based on them! It's my job! How can I know how to react if _no one_ tells me anything?" 

"Your '_job_' is to allow your strength to return!" Amélie shot back, switching with him smoothly. "How can you be a benefit to anyone, including _Sydney_, when you will not let yourself recover?" 

Vaughn stopped. He had never mentioned Sydney's name to his mother. He had wanted to since the day they met, had written and ripped up countless letters talking about her. At first it had just been job protocol that had determined his silence, but then… 

How could he say, "_Maman_, I'm in love with the daughter of the woman that killed _Papa_"? 

And even though he knew Amélie would accept her, because she would do anything to insure his happiness, how could he allow his mother to hurt herself in such a way? Because he knew his _maman._ He knew that once she knew the truth, the mere thought of Sydney, and him by extension, would cause her pain. And he would never willingly do that. But he should've known better. 

"_Vos rêves_," she told him simply, reading his thoughts with an ability possessed by all mothers.("Your dreams.") 

He stiffened, ashen. What else had he said? 

Amélie released his hand, folding hers in her lap and looking him in the eye. "_Jack Bristow est un homme intéressant. Je me demande quels traits votre Sydney a à lui?_" she said, voice carefully neutral. ("Jack Bristow is an interesting man. I wonder which traits your Sydney has of his?") 

He paled even more, if that was possible. 

"I would prefer that she have more of her father's characteristics - than her _mother's_," Amélie said in English, taking care to enunciate each word. 

And there it was. 

"_Maman_, I - " 

"Excuse me." 

Beleaguered, mother and son immediately turned their attention to the door. 

"Forgive me for interrupting," Kendall said, not even attempting to appear genuine. "But I'd like to speak with Counselor Vaughn alone, please." 

* * *

"I wanted to thank you." 

Hard at work on an extraction report much overdue because of increased determination to spend time with his family, Dixon frowned in puzzlement at the voice. He liked the kid, but they weren't exactly good friends. 

"What for, Agent Weiss?" he asked. 

"For all your help with Michael," Eric said simply. Echoes of their previous conversation - him calling the seasoned older agent in for covert help before he knew he would actually be cleared to retrieve Mike, just because there was no one else - ran through both their minds. "I know it was an assignment, but - " 

Dixon waved the thanks away. "Mr. Vaughn and I have not had much in the way of contact," he said. "And in fact, he is undeniably responsible for the short rift between Sydney and I… she was under orders from him to not tell me the truth." 

Weiss nodded. The man had almost had to choose between his life as an intelligence operative and a family man, the least he could do was afford him some time to vent. 

"But I understand why," Dixon continued. "And even Jack, a man wary of connections with people, seems to respect your friend. That's enough for me to know he's a good man. I felt privileged to help." 

They shook hands. 

"And besides," Dixon added. "If he was anything less, Sydney wouldn't let him near her. And I love her like one of my own children. I could never stand aside when something I did could grant her happiness." 

Eric smiled, dropping his head. Just as he would do anything to protect his friend, Dixon would and had put his life on the line for Sydney. Not just out of duty or obligation, but out of love, be it friendship or an almost father-daughter relationship. They were more alike than either realized. 

"Agent Weiss?" 

"Coming," he said. Off Dixon's questioning gaze, he shook his head in exasperation. "The NSC guy, Lindsey, seems to think it's a good time to 'informally question' Mike. All the directors and Jack are going, too. They want me to come with them in case Mike is too shaken to know what's going on, they think if I'm there he'll be more relaxed and able to focus on answering them." 

"He probably will be," Dixon agreed. "You two seem to be very close." 

Weiss scowled, not hearing the almost-compliment. "Sorry," he muttered. "But I can't see how ambushing the poor guy will help anything." 

"Agent Weiss?" Lauren called. 

"See you," he sighed, hefting himself off the desk. 

"Tell him hello for me," Dixon replied. 

"Will do," he said, dredging over to join the auspiciously ranked people as they readied to head for the hospital. 

Shaking his head, Dixon turned to finish his extraction debrief. 

"Marcus." 

He turned. Jack stood there, stet phone in hand. The heavy, oversized object had never left his side since his daughter left. "Take this," the father said. "I don't want to bring it with me." 

Dixon did so, understanding why. _Sydney._

Nodding to him, Jack turned and left. 

* * *

"Counselor?" Vaughn asked. 

The FBI Deputy Director sank into the oft-used chair beside his bed with a look of amusement on his face. "Close the door, please," he called to the marshals. They obeyed immediately. 

"Langley informed me your cover story was an attorney," the director said. 

_Oh_, Vaughn remembered, somewhat sheepishly. 

"My compatriots are on their way," Kendall informed him. "But I had some things to discuss with you first." 

"Sorry?" Vaughn asked, confused. The "sleep encourager" in his arm certainly wasn't helping. "On their way?" 

Kendall smirked. "Oh, that's right. You had stepped out when we sent a messenger by. We wanted to give you time to recover, and we certainly won't debrief you until you're officially released, but we did have some questions for you." 

"We?" Vaughn remained lost. Maybe, just maybe, he could coax Dr. Matthews into removing the IV while this went on. At this rate, anything would be helpful. 

"Myself, Jack, Devlin, NSA Deputy Director Brandon, NSC Director Lindsey, and Agent Reed." 

"Oh." 

Kendall leaned forward. "I did want to say, Agent Vaughn, that I am glad things worked out to your benefit." 

"Thank you, sir," Vaughn replied. 

"But I came here to issue you an order. I know that you are probably aware of Agent Reed's duplicity." 

He nodded. 

"Agent Vaughn, until I say otherwise, you are to keep that information between yourself, myself, Brandon, and Neil Caplan. Do not address it with Lindsey or Reed herself, and do not divulge that today or during your official debrief. Am I clear?" 

"Sir?" _Huh?_

The door opened. Vaughn sucked in a breath as they all began to troop in, Weiss eyeing him worriedly the moment he entered. 

"Agent Vaughn?" Kendall prompted. 

"Yes, sir," he mumbled. 

"What is this?" a new voice demanded. Dr. Matthews joined the crowd, astonished. "I don't know who you all are, but Mr. Vaughn is on bedrest and visitors are restricted to one at a time!" 

"Vaughn, where's your mother?" Devlin inquired, ignoring the man. 

He looked blank. Weiss scowled at the floor. _I can't believe they're doing this now!_

"She's probably in the store downstairs… she likes looking at the glass things," Vaughn stammered. 

"Excellent," Lindsey said curtly. "Dr. Matthews, I know you have clearance. I'm National Security Council Director Robert Lindsey, and we are here to interview Central Intelligence Agency Senior Operations Officer Michael Vaughn for matters of national security. I'm aware we are disobeying hospital protocol, but I clear this with my own personal authority. You're welcome to report objections to my direct superior. Address any concerns to George W. Bush." 

Dr. Matthews fought to not respond. The man's smugness oozed from him in palpable ways. 

"We'll be brief," Devlin soothed, noting his unease. The door opened again, Jack and Lauren stepping through. 

"Agent Weiss," Lindsey addressed the lowest-ranked operative in the room. "Would you mind finding some chairs for everyone?" 

"Pleasure," Eric muttered. Vaughn was still studying his visitors with stupefied bewilderment, a look that tore at his heart. _Too soon._

David pursed his lips, even more unhappy than Weiss. He had finally coaxed his patient to relax, and then they pulled this stunt! But what could he do? The NSC outranked even CIA Director Devlin, the opinion of one lowly retired agent certainly wouldn't matter. 

"I need to check on his IV," he mumbled, stepping past Kendall. "And then I'll leave." 

"Actually," Kendall said, having witnessed the effects of whatever flowed through that needle. "How's about you remove it so Agent Vaughn is not distracted?" 

David shook his head. "It's also his painkiller," he said, steaming at the interference. Vaughn frowned as well, he was in the room and could speak for himself, thanks much. David glanced at him, noting his color and confusion, and then smirked to himself and picked up a syringe. 

"Doctor?" Vaughn asked warily. 

"Something to help you be more alert," he lied, feeding the syringe into his IV before Vaughn could protest. He wasn't frightened of needles, but had seen enough to last a lifetime. Or five. 

"Excellent," Lindsey said, already impatient. The last of the needed chairs were dragged in, the agents and directors situating themselves around Vaughn's bed. 

_He'll fall asleep in about an hour,_ David thought, satisfied. The chemicals he had just mixed together in the IV would see to that. "Gentlemen, ma'am," he said, heading for the door. "I'll stall Amélie Vaughn, should she come up." 

"Close the door, please," Lauren spoke up. He did so. 

* * *

"Base ops, this is Mountaineer, voice ID number Alpha, Charlie, 710. I need to speak with - " Sydney hesitated. _Well, why not? Immediate answer to your question._ " - Boy Scout." 

**- to be continued -**

Pssst… this chapter was actually longer (this is 9 pages, what I have equals 12 pages), but I only received *6* reviews for my 17-page-long Chapter 47! :sniffles: Was it not liked?****


	51. Mismatched Realities

**_Chapter Forty Nine: Mismatched Realties_**

Dixon jumped a mile when Sydney's voice suddenly rang out. Jack had never put the stet phone down, but he had never thought she would try to contact anyone _now_, after her father had left. 

"B-ops reads you," he said after scrambling to find it. "B.S. accounted for but not present. Package is in hand." 

In Tuscany, Sydney ducked her head with tears of relief in her eyes as she recognized Dixon's voice. Vaughn was indeed home, and probably in the hospital. 

"Copy," she said into the phone. "All is well. Stet." 

And then she disconnected, heart simply flying with relief. 

* * *

"As the top-ranked people in this room," Lindsey preened, "Agent Reed and I will be leading the questioning. During the debriefings of Sydney Bristow, the Caplans and Ms. Reed, a variety of holes appeared that we need you to fill in. I decided that enough time on your end had passed for us to do this. Should you agree, of course." It sounded polite enough, but no one believed the NSC Director was _requesting_ anything. 

"Okay," Vaughn answered slowly. He tried to pull himself up a little, but a pointed glare from Eric and protestations from his ripped-open wounds dispelled that notion instantly. Resigned, he relaxed once more. Besides, Lauren and Lindsey both sat next to him on his right and Jack and Kendall perched themselves to his left, all four easily in his immediate vision range. And they were arguably the people he most needed to pay attention to, anyway. 

Weiss, Brandon, Devlin and a pretty dark-haired woman filled out the horseshoe formation, forcing him to look down the length of his body to see them. As that was hard to do from his prone position, he decided not to worry about them too much. 

"Of course, should this get to be too much for you," Lauren added into his thoughts, "please tell us. This is not an official debrief, and your recovery is priority." She flashed him a dimpled smile, sensing his unease and trying to calm him. He smiled back without thought. _You're a very good actress_, he thought towards her. 

Watching silently, Jack frowned to himself. Something was not quite right with Reed, and the look in Vaughn's eyes all but gave it away. 

"All right, no need to waste any more time," Lindsay said, taking control once more. "I suspect you're familiar with most of the people here, Agent Vaughn. You know my name as well if you were paying attention; the people you might not know are NSA Deputy Director Frederick Brandon and Special Projects Division Leader Carrie Bowman." 

He nodded to them out of habit, a gesture returned by both. Bowman flashed him a soft smile. 

"Your foolhardy intervention in Agent Reed's raven work and the kidnapping of NSA Agent Neil Caplan caused all of us to pool our resources. Our endgame is to take down Sloane and Derevko." 

Vaughn nodded again, clenching his hands into fists underneath the blankets. The NSC Director couldn't be more offending if he tried. 

"Agent Vaughn, what do you know about the supposed doomsday device Caplan was building?" Lindsey began. 

"Not much," he answered. "We weren't sure what it was. I assumed it was a weapon, but we had no way of confirming that. I really can't add anything to what Neil has told you, I couldn't even see his notes from where they put me." 

Lauren nodded to herself, carefully documenting his answer with both a tape recorder and written notes. 

"All right," Lindsey continued. "The weapon will supposedly be activated on a certain day. In his debrief, Caplan noted Rambaldi's obsession with the number 47, and assumed that date would correspond with it somehow. Can you offer any further details?" 

"No," Vaughn replied, lost. 

"Were they aware of Caplan's Intelligence affiliation?" Brandon spoke up, ignoring Lindsey's pointed glare. 

"As far as I know, no," Vaughn answered as he craned his head to make eye contact with the NSA Deputy Director, relieved he could finally be of some help. "Caplan hid it well. I only deduced he was not a civilian when he made an offbeat comment on my rank that only operatives would think about." 

"Did anyone hear his comment? What was it?" 

"I introduced myself with my full title and he stated that I was rather young for my position. The only person to hear us was a guard that I shot while escaping the first time, sirs." 

"How did you end up in this condition?" Eric asked, keeping his voice mild. Everyone else was _firing_ questions at him. 

Vaughn stared at the ceiling, knowing his stoic facade would disappear if he looked at his friend as he answered. "The guard I killed… when we implemented the op, I ended up in the custody of that guard's brother and Agent Reed, whom I didn't know was an operative at that time. He chained me to a wooden high-back chair and started with two leather, metal-lined straps and later, salt or soda water." 

Sitting at the head of the bed, Devlin flinched. Agent Vaughn was one of his most talented operatives, and had accomplished much in spite of his relative youth. For him to have to endure that… 

"The straps served as restraints around my chest and legs as well, and my thrashing from that worked a piece of the metal free and skewered my left lung, which is apparently my most severe injury." Vaughn's voice was almost a monotone, he could have been reciting numbers from a phone book rather than accounting his torture for an audience, for all the emotion he was displaying. 

Lauren swallowed hard, remembering those times well. Eric closed his eyes in horrified disbelief. 

"Did he ask you anything?" Devlin broke in, drawing everyone's attention back to the interview and sparing the ops officer any further humiliation from a possible Lindsey follow-up on his reactions and the like. 

"No. He wanted revenge." 

"And Agent Vaughn was gagged during the liquid torture," Lauren spoke up, scribing both his answer and her addendum. Vaughn's jaw clenched, not enjoying appearing weak in a roomful of superiors. 

_But then, you're already lying flat in a gown with oxygen and an IV, Mike_, he thought dryly. _So you kinda lost that battle._

"You should know, Agent Vaughn, that Sark's cooperation has continued past your initial op," Jack said into the silence, watching him carefully. "In fact, just before our _conversation_ in Operations, he argued with Sloane to spare your life." 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow. They couldn't know yet that he had been rescued… which made Sark's benevolence very odd indeed. 

"Did Mr. Lazarey, otherwise known as Mr. Sark, give you any reason at all to not trust him? Any reason at all to arrest him with Sloane when we reach that stage?" 

_Of course_, Vaughn thought. _He's working for Derevko._ He opened his mouth to answer Lindsey's question - and then paused. Jack stared at him, clearly trying to communicate. 

"Mr. Vaughn?" 

"Sorry," he lied. "Dizzy for a moment." Jack's pointed stare continued. _Jack, I don't know what you're doing, but I know it will ensure Sydney's safety and that's enough for me._

"Mr. Vaughn?" Lindsey's impatience was back. 

"All right, that's enough," Weiss said when his friend didn't reply, still simmering that they would do this to him in the first place.

"It's all right, I'm fine," Vaughn assured him. He drew in a breath. "No, sir. Sark has proven himself to be reliable, so far." 

Unnoticed by all, Jack nodded his thanks. _You'll do much more than that later, Jack. I just covered for the kid working for my father's murderer._

Then a _real_ wave of dizziness slammed into Vaughn and he blinked, frowning to himself as the world swam in and out of focus. _The syringe_, he realized. 

And Lindsey was talking again. Forcing back his sudden weariness, he tried to tune in. 

"… correct, Agent Vaughn?" 

"Sorry?" he asked. Dr. Matthews and him would have quite an interesting chat later. 

"I said…" 

Again, the world seemed to tilt. 

"Agent Vaughn?" Lindsey leaned forward, waiting for an answer. 

"One more time," he sighed. "Please." 

"We're done here," was the response, as Lauren pointedly closed her notebook. Lindsey scowled, annoyed at the lack of productivity, but he could hardly blame Vaughn for that. Not that he wouldn't. 

"My apologies, Agent Vaughn," Lauren continued, rising. "This was a mistake. We won't disturb you like this again." 

"Indeed," Devlin muttered from where he sat at the foot of the bed, glancing at Lindsey in irrritation. "Get some rest, son." 

"Sir," Vaughn responded automatically. Weiss stepped up, lightly squeezing his arm before following all but one visitor out of the room. 

Jack lagged behind, picking up the syringe the doctor had left on the table behind Vaughn's bed and taking note of the effects. _Light sedative when mixed with what he's already being given, time delayed, fast acting when it sets in, short timespan of effectiveness,_ he thought, amused. _Classic Dave Matthews._

"I owe you an explanation another time," he said to Vaughn, who was already half asleep. 

"You do," Vaughn asserted, eyes closed. His breathing evened out moments later, the drug working quickly as he fell back asleep. 

"It was an emergency meeting for a client Mr. Vaughn was defending," Jack heard David saying, approaching the door. "But it's over now, and I can _guarantee_ he's resting." 

"Emergency meeting," Vaughn's mother repeated as they walked in. Jack sighed. Another encounter with William's wife, which was awkward just because of her name, was not something he had wanted to repeat. 

"_Monsieur_ Bristow," Amélie drawled. "_Bonjour._" 

"Heya Jack," David drawled. 

"David," he greeted. "_Madame._" 

"You two know each other?" Amélie inquired, even as she headed over to check on her son. While she ran a hand through his hair, Jack and David exchanged glances. 

"Our paths crossed," David answered for both of them. "Once or twice." 

"Indeed," Jack agreed shortly. "I'm due back at the firm." 

"I'll walk you out," David offered. Jack nodded. Amélie watched the two of them with interest. 

"Good day," Jack said to her. 

"Good day." 

* * *

"Well, that was a waste of time," Lindsey scowled, storming into a conference room with all the subtlety of an elephant. "We don't know anything we didn't already! One would think Agent Vaughn would - " 

"Would what?" Lauren retorted. Her heels clicked on the floor as she followed him in and closed the door. "You know as well as I do that was a horrible idea. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he was even willing to answer questions in his condition!" 

"You forget your place," he snapped. "I could report you for talking back to me!" 

She glared right back, taking a reflexive step closer to him. "I will not be blackmailed, Lindsey. Have you forgotten what you are doing? Report me and _I_ report _you_. They'd give me a medal, but you?" She smiled at him, though her eyes remained hard. "If they were merciful, they'd have you shot. But the Americans seem to enjoy letting bastards like you rot in a cell for the rest of your life." 

Her smile faded. 

"I must say, I eagerly await the moment seeing the look on your face - " she hissed " - when you know it's time to pay for what you've done. To your country and to _me_." 

* * *

"Neil?" Elsa whispered. 

He leaned in closer to her, kissing her on the shoulder. They snuggled together on the couch, watching television and taking simple joy in each others' presence. 

"Hmm?" he murmured. 

"We really do need to talk," she reminded him. 

"I know," he sighed. 

She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. "No matter what you may think of me for lying to you," she forced out. "I would have done _anything_ to bring you home." 

He rolled over to face his wife, cupping her cheek in his right hand. "I know," he said again. With ginger caution, he brought his other hand up to wipe away her tear. "We'll have lot to figure out, but I don't think either one of us are in a position to pass any judgments." 

She started to cry in earnest then. So did he. 

"I love you, she choked. 

"I love you, too," he replied firmly. 

And then they lost themselves on the couch. 

* * *

The wresting arena was packed, a sold-out crowd watching the ring with eager eyes. The aroma of beer, hot dogs and sweat wafted through the air. Amidst wild cheers, David Matthews waded out to the center of the ring and grandly rose his arms in the air. 

"Hear ye, hear ye!" he crowed. "Tonight, the match of all matches commences! On one side, we find Michael "Boy Scout" Vaughn; former handler, victim of Irina, Jack's protégé, and current love interest of Sydney!" 

The crowd cheered, screams intensifying when the seasoned agent flung off off his robe and waved, flexing his muscles for the women watching. 

"And on the other side, we have Sydney "Mountaineer" Bristow! Former double agent, Jack and Irina's daughter, as well as daughter to the woman that killed Boy Scout's father and current arm decoration of Michael!" 

The crowded screamed louder, if that were possible. Sydney bowed theatrically, coughing a little at the cigarette smoke that permeated the arena. 

"I won't tell you to be careful," Dr. Matthews said to them. "Mainly because all three of us know I won't be listened to. But if I feel that either of you aren't up to this, I'll order you to stop and will expect you to do so. Clear?" 

Sydney and Vaughn nodded. 

"Well, then," he exclaimed, drawing a pistol and firing into the air. "Let the match begin!" 

Sydney moved in first, mainly because she knew Vaughn never would. Her speed was a far cry from normal, and her blows were hardly a projection of her normal strength. This was supposed to help Vaughn, after all. 

But her protective boyfriend, realizing what she was doing, caught her by the arm, spun her around and sent her hurtling to the floor with ease, catching her in his arms before she hit the ground. The crowd stopped, torn between cheering for his obvious skill and booing at him for him helping his opponent. Vaughn ignored them. 

"Holding back won't help me," he told her, breathing in gulps of air from effort while she gaped. Sydney knew he had training in physical conduct, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so easily beaten. Even_ if _she hadn't been fighting with all her strength. 

Sydney shook her head. "I don't want to hurt you, Vaughn." 

He glared. "I am so tired of that sentence. Sydney, I wouldn't have suggested we spar if I thought I didn't have a chance. Trust me, all right? _Don't hold back_." 

She swallowed, studying him. "I won't let you touch the floor," she promised at last. "But fine. I'll give you all I have." 

He nodded to her. "Likewise." 

And off they went, their movements a mixture of highly-trained martial art talents and simple ballroom dancing. Sydney lashed out first again, sweeping her leg into his ankles and knocking him flat - but lunging forward and catching him by his collar before he could fall. Vaughn followed that with a cross punch to her chest, grabbing her shirt at the same time and literally spinning her upright once more. 

And then her eyes hardened. 

Before he could blink or react, Sydney dove at him with a hard scissor kick that threw him brutally to the ground. He gaped, yelping as the impact seared his back. Blood flew everywhere, as though his back was nothing more than a popped water balloon. 

She moved to stand over him, smiling. Some of his blood landed on her teeth as it flew around him, and she took her own sweet time to lick it off. Terrified, Vaughn looked for David. The doctor watched from off to the side, hands casually in his pockets. 

Sydney knelt by him then, hatred clear. "This is all your fault," she mocked. "You let them torture me!" 

"No!" he protested. 

She slapped him. 

"She's right, you know." 

Vaughn whirled, breathing speeding up. His mother appeared on his other side, no hint of an accent in sight. 

"I lost the man I loved," Amélie told him. "And _you_ are all I have left." 

She sneered at him. 

"What a waste." 

* * *

"Mr. Will!" Aaron yelled. 

He flew into Vaughn's guest room clad only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, alarmed at the little boy's tone. 

"What, kiddo?" 

Aaron pointed at the floor, all but shaking from fear. 

"'bider!" he whimpered. 

_Huh? Spider?_ Puzzled, Will stepped closer and leaned down to scan the floor. 

And then jumped back. 

"Black Widow," he said aloud. _Yuck._

"It was on my _caaaars_," Aaron wailed, pointing to the matchbox cars on his pillow. "So I hit it to make it go away!" 

"You _what_?" Will asked, torn between pride for the boy's bravery and sudden fear. Which was well-founded. 

"_And it bit meeeee!_" he sobbed, holding out his tiny left hand. It was already swelling, two bright red splotches flanking the bite. 

Will ran a hand through his hair, shocked. "Well shit," he muttered. 

* * *

Sydney all but floated down the stairs. Sark rose when he saw her, having sank down on a chair while he waited. 

"I take it you received confirmation?" he inquired, bemused. 

She stared at him. "Sark, what do you want?" 

"Sorry?" 

"All of this," she spelled out. "One moment you're joking with me, the next you're the cocky little son of a bitch I know you to be. What is this? What are you after?" 

He hesitated, hands in his pockets as he stared at his feet. 

And then he stepped over, leaned in, and kissed her. 

* * *

"An ambulance is on the way, sir. Do you want me to stay on the line?" 

"Yeah," Will babbled into the phone. "No. Uh, can I talk to Dave Matthews?" It was the only name he knew. 

Aaron buried his head into the older man's chest, still tired. His bite wound, thoroughly cleaned and disinfected by Will, had been covered with a boring band-aid. Sydney's longtime friend fought to hide alarm, the little boy was already sweating and breathing irregularly. Both refused to look at the floor, where the captured and very much alive spider looked up at them from inside the glass cup it was contained in. 

"My hand hurts," Aaron whined. 

"Hang on, kid," Will soothed, hugging him closer. 

"Dr. Matthews is tending to another patient," the operative said. "But we will have someone waiting." 

"Right, okay," Will replied. "Uh, we can disconnect. I have to call his parents."

* * *

They were in a meadow, for lack of a better word. Vaughn looked around, admiring the bright and sunny day. Birds chirped, rabbits played, a light breeze whistled through the tall grass… 

"What are you looking at?" Sydney giggled. "Focus, Mr. Super Spy." 

He laughed at himself, shaking his head. "Sorry," he apologized. She set the picnic basket down and he reached over to open it. "What's on the menu?" 

"It's a surprise," she whispered to him throatily. 

He raised an eyebrow, snatching her hand when she grabbed the other side of the lid and pulling her over to him 

She giggled again, leaning against and into him 

"I love you," he told her, resting his head on her shoulder. 

Sydney rested her head on his, pulling the basket over to them by her feet and opening the lid. Only then did he realize the back of her white t-shirt was soaked with what could only be bright red blood. 

"Syd!" 

But she ignored him, reaching into the basket. Her smile remained as she pulled out a metal-lined leather strap. 

* * *

"Sir!" 

Logging the disaster that the NSC had called "informal questioning" and absently reminiscing about the wonder that was sleep, Kendall jumped a mile. 

"Rick?" he said, fighting to regain control. "What's up?" _And could you knock or make noise somehow, instead of just appearing?_

"An ambulance was just called to Agent Vaughn's home. It was routed to a non-CIA hospital since we weren't contacted first. I had it sent to the naval hospital and requested Dr. Matthews to stand ready." 

He sighed, running a hand over his head. "Who was there?" 

"Tippin and the Caplan boy. Apparently one of them has a poisonous bite." 

"Of course," he groaned. _Can anything else go wrong these days_? "Well done, Rick. Tippin knows too much and the boy could still be a target. Arrange for a deputy." 

"Yes, sir." 

* * *

Astonishment filtered through Sydney, almost overriding her control over herself. 

Almost. 

Without hesitation, she pulled herself forcibly away and slapped him. _Hard_. 

"So that's what this is about?" she sputtered, outraged. 

"No," he answered, rubbing his cheek. "That was an impulse. I've always wanted to know how it would feel to kiss you." 

Her jaw dropped, aversion and disbelief warring within her. "Try that again," she growled, "and I'll kill you." 

He nodded. "I have no doubt, Agent Bristow. Rest assured it was a one-time experiment." 

If anything, her rage increased. "You insipid little… not if you were the _last_ - " 

"I'm off to call Sloane and check in," Sark interrupted carelessly. 

And then he left, leaving her staring after him, shoulders trembling in anger and disgust. 

* * *

Irina paced across the floor of her hideaway, impatience making her restless. The fact that her daughter was currently in Arvin Sloane's vicinity sent anger through every pore of her body. 

_Enough._ Irritated, she pulled out her phone and dialed. 

Jack answered on the first ring.

* * *

He lay on a chair. 

Not just any chair. Straps bound him with cruel efficiency, and an IV was in his arm. The drug poured into his vein, keeping him docile and helpful to his captors. He shivered rather harshly; the dark room was cold enough to pucker his bare skin. 

And then the door opened. Vaughn looked up, bracing himself. Two masked people walked in, eyes amused behind their masks. 

"This will be fun," the first tormentor said, and Vaughn froze. He would know that voice if he lost his ability to hear. 

"Yes," agreed the other woman, this time characterized by a light French accent. She stepped closer to loom over him, smirk obvious through the black ski mask. 

The first speaker, brown hair laying smoothly in a circular pattern on her shoulders as the mask held it in place, moved to his side. A syringe was injected moments later and he spasmed helplessly against the restraints. Whatever venom had been in that needle felt like liquid fire. His mouth opened in a silent scream. He could feel the drug invade every _vein_ of his body. 

"You've done far worse to me," the older torturer chuckled, watching in unhidden delight. "All those sleepless nights, Michel. You think I can forgive?" 

"_Maman_," Vaughn gasped out. Another needle was forced into his skin, and another thrash sent waves of agony up his back. He stifled a sob, naked body wrenching against the straps uncontrollably. 

"_Votre maman est ici, mon petit,"_ a new voice, calm but underlined with terror that matched his own, interjected. ("Your mommy is here, baby.") 

No, not a new voice. An old one, one he would also know if he lost his ability to hear. His forehead furrowed in thought, fighting to ignore the pain and figure out why he heard his mother say two different things. 

"_Il est un cauchemar se, Michel!_" one mother persisted, even as the other joined Sydney in torturing him. "_Réveillent!_" ("It is a nightmare, Michael! Awake!") 

And then he did so, struggling for breath. Lights glared in his eyes and he tried to shy away, wrenching his body away from wherever the brightness was coming from. Only to realize that a haggard-looking David and _both_ of his federal marshal guards held him down, their postures suggesting they had done so for quite a while. 

"_Facile, mon petit_," Amélie soothed from somewhere behind them all. ("Easy, little one.") 

He blinked, body relaxing against their holds. The three of them exchanged relieved glances. 

"Welcome back," David drawled, releasing him. His guards followed suit. 

Vaughn shook his head, infinitely weary. "What - " 

"If I knew what that was, I think I could retire," the doctor interrupted, wiping sweat off his brow and flexing tired arms. Amélie rushed to return to his side, studying her son closely. 

"Listen," David continued. "I promised that the light dosage on the IV was as far as I'd go, and I meant it. But at night, with your agreement, it might make sense to render you completely under. If anything, it would force me to visit the weight room again instead of coming here to strengthen my upper body." 

The doctor kept his tone light, though his worry was genuine. Vaughn's thrashing had been so extreme that even the restraints had been of little use. It had taken three grown men and one mother to get him under control. 

"Okay," Vaughn stammered, still thrown. "Makes sense." 

"Great," he said. "I'll get someone to clean you up - you're never gonna heal at this rate, son. And then I'll come back and we'll witness the miracle of drugs. I plan on sleeping until noon or so - and you will, too." 

And then he yawned and left, shooing the guards in front of him, leaving the Vaughns alone. 

* * *

The sound of a telephone ringing cut through the haze of early morning with all the subtlety of a siren. 

"Neil, get the phone," Elsa mumbled. 

Her husband didn't reply. Arms wrapped around his wife, head buried on her shoulder, he was currently having the best sleep he'd had in his entire life. She frowned at herself when she remembered what he had been through. Turning over to kiss him, Elsa pulled herself free reluctantly and stumbled around the room, looking for the cordless and almost tripping over it as a result. 

_3:07_, the green display read. "Hello?" 

"Elsa?" 

"Will?" 

"Elsa, it's about Aaron." 

* * *

"I need a nurse and a wardrobe change for our favorite guest," David said as he drummed his hands on the nurses' station counter. 

"Got it," the head nurse replied, chuckling when he yawned. "You know, Doctor, the patient's mother sleeps in the other bed in his room. Maybe we should set one up for you?" 

"Hardy har har," David shot back, grinning at her. His good cheer faded, however, when he recalled what he had witnessed. 

"How's he doing?" she inquired into the silence, pulling a clean gown out of a nearby cupboard. 

David shook his head. "We might have to call in a shrink. I'd pay for it myself just so he could get a good night's sleep. Hasn't happened since he came here." 

She nodded sympathetically, tossing her head to move loose gray strands away. "Poor kid. And hell, poor mother. I have three his age and they'll never grow up as far as I'm concerned." She raised an eyebrow. "You know, his mother _is_ quite good-looking. Where he gets it from, hmmm? Maybe a certain eternal bachelor of a doctor could - " 

"Go tend to the patient!" David exclaimed, hiding his amusement as he swiftly ended _that_ conversation. "Not in the mood for a lawsuit at 3 in the morning!" 

Her laughter carried down the hall as she went. Shaking his head, David stooped and grabbed his cup of coffee, amused. It was a game they had played for nearly a decade. If he left his coffee alone she'd hide it on the floor, underneath her computer. _A doctor should know coffee is horrible for you! _

Cheerful once more, he clutched the cup to him as though it were a lifeline. 

"_Dr. Matthews to the ER, please."_ the intercom squawked. 

He frowned in confusion, automatically setting the cup down and flying down the hallway. _I haven't worked the gauntlet for years_. Maybe since he had done a favor to Jack and gone down to the ER to wait for Agent Vaughn, the staff thought he was back on it? 

_Ah, well_, he thought as he navigated around various people in the hallway to the ER. Not the time to wonder. 

"What've we got?" he gasped, jogging into what was always the busiest part of the hospital. 

"Bite," the nurse greeted. "Black Widow. Penetrated the hand. Effects already setting in." 

"Have calcium gluconate ready," he instructed, processing her information. She nodded, rushing to get it. 

The stretcher was wheeled in. David waited, arms crossed. And then he froze, heart falling as he saw who lay on it. 

**- to be continued -**

No, this is not a Sarkney story. Or a V/L story. I promise. ;) And finals are coming up, so school will soon be over and I can reply to reviews again! Yay! (And Ivy, I promise you I'm not wasting your time. It doesn't look it's going anywhere 'cause I'm setting it up to go somewhere. Really!)****


	52. Teamwork

**_Chapter Fifty - Teamwork_**

"Won't be blackmailed?" Lindsey repeated, amused. "Well, in that case…" 

Lauren swallowed, swearing at herself. Losing control would not help her. "Apologies, sir," she forced herself to say. "I spoke out of turn." 

* * *

Sydney waited, arms crossed, while Sark paced in front of her with his phone to his ear. 

"It appears, Mr. Sloane, that we missed quite a little event." 

_"Explain, Mr. Sark."_

"The guards are missing, save one dead one. And Agent Vaughn has also disappeared." 

_"Sydney's reaction?"_

"Upset that she was deprived of her vengeance.," Sark lied, glancing at her. She turned away, eyes closed at the thought. "My supposition is that Agent Vaughn tried to escape or fight back, thus killing the accounted-for guard, and was subsequently executed. The other guards, fearing reprisals on our part, disposed of his body and then hid themselves away." 

_"Sounds logical._" 

"Orders, sir?" Sydney still refused to look at him. 

_"Emily adores that home. Ensure that we will find no surprises when we return."_

"Of course."

* * *

_I remember when sleep wasn't just a dream._

Weiss sat at his desk, bone-tired. He didn't have to be there, of course. Kendall, Jack, Dixon, Devlin _and_ Rick had all suggested he head home. But it seemed so ridiculous, sleeping and relaxing while his best friend was busily ripping himself apart. The least he could do was stay in the Rotunda and help however he could to bring Sydney home to Michael. 

Hushed voices caught his attention and he turned, watching. Whatever it was, it was something private. Kendall, Brandon and Jack leaned in close, heated in discussion about something, and then broke apart abruptly. The two directors headed towards Kendall's office, and Jack headed for his car. 

_Odd_, Eric thought. But it didn't concern him, and was soon forgotten.

* * *

It was déjà vu. And yet it wasn't. 

_Aaron! Aaron! Excuse me, did you see a little boy? He's five-years-old, he's got a striped shirt on, he's got brown hair, his name is Aaron._

She flew in the hospital doors, her husband hot on her tail. "Where would I go to find my son?" she gasped out to the receptionist, out of breath. Neil skidded to a halt beside her, taking her hand to calm her down. _He'll be fine._

A security guard, alarmed at their hasty entrance, moved to stand behind them. Neither frantic parent noticed. 

"Name?" 

"Caplan. Aaron. Uh, C-A-P-L-A-N." 

Silence for a moment, while the elderly lady typed into a computer. Elsa resisted the urge to tap her foot. 

* * *

_"I've had enough, Jack."_ His ex-wife's - no, wife's - impatience came through loud and clear. 

"We don't have a choice, Irina. We need that weapon." Jack sat in his car, cell phone earpiece in, bugs neutralized. 

_"She never should have been involved. That's why we have this partnership, you idiot. _I_ was working on acquiring the device."_

"Irina, _you_ sent Sark into Operations. That was not part of our agreement. Because of _your_ orders, he directly included Agent Vaughn. That was _not_ something I authorized! Did you not realize that meant our daughter wouldn't even consider _not_ involving herself?" 

_"Vaughn would have been out of our way and yet unharmed, were it not for that one independent variable. The other guard watching over him worked for _me_."_

"You have an NSC agent in your pocket?" _So that's why Vaughn was so hesitant around Reed. He knew she was a mole. How long has he known?_

_"You find that surprising? You should have known better." _Irina smiled to herself. 

"No, I do not." He knew more than anyone what she was capable of. But he _was_ confused. Why_ would Reed work for the woman that hired her partner's killer?_

"Caplan told me what you ordered him to do. His captivity was also not approved." 

_"Jack. You may not trust me, and that's fine. I am not certain I trust you. But we are in this to ensure Sydney's survival. I kidnapped him from men that would most certainly have killed him, gave us an out, and then let him go."_

Jack pursed his lips, stubborn. "Irina, should you continue on this streak and choose to not inform me of pertinent information, I will consider that a breach of our agreement." 

_"Understood,"_ Irina replied, amused. 

"Furthermore, if you do not produce results, I will personally end our partnership. Sydney grieved her mother once. She can and will do so again."

"Of course, Jack." 

A dial tone then signaled the abrupt end of their conversation, though nether could say who disconnected first. 

* * *

The guards were the least of his concern. If anything, they were beneath his attention. 

Arvin Sloane resisted the urge to yawn, checking his ID badge as he strolled down the hospital corridor. Emily had understood, or so it had seemed. As much as he loved his wife, he had Rambaldi's manuscript. Nothing else mattered. 

Well, except what he was about to do. 

It was simple. When he had at first spontaneously decided to kidnap Michael Vaughn along with Sydney, his reasoning had not been complete. He had then simply considered him a useful motivation tool; someone he could utilize to manipulate Jack's daughter - and perhaps even Jack - in any way he saw fit. 

And while that train of logic had been correct, he had underestimated _both _how far Sydney would go to protect him, _and_ Agent Vaughn's undeniable abilities. The boy had genuinely impressed him. 

Which was why he was here. 

The guards outside Agent Vaughn's closed door stiffened to attention at the sight of him. Sloane braced himself. The prosthetics he wore were very similar to what he had donned in Zurich, and there was always a chance they would fail him. 

"Excuse me," he said politely, very aware of both the cameras and the guns they held. "I'd like to have a word with Agent Vaughn." 

The two guards exchanged frowns. "Sir, it's very late and Mr. Vaughn is of course sleeping." 

He glared at them impatiently. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded. 

"We can check the list - " 

"My name is Field Manager Mark Lucas!" Sloane barked, holding his credentials right up to one guard's face. "That's two away from Deputy Director! I am not accustomed to runaround, gentlemen!" 

They gulped. "Sir," one said awkwardly. "I apologize. Of course you can go in. We just need to make sure you're approved- " 

Change of tactics. 

"Of course," Sloane apologized, rubbing his forehead. "_I _apologize. I was just so concerned the moment I heard… and _Sydney_ - ah, Agent Bristow, my asset - agreed with me. She asked me to check up on him for her." 

They looked at each other again. They knew that name. 

"You know, checking the list can take a bit of time, especially at this time of night," the other guard said. "And, pardon my candor, sir, but I think everyone that knows Agent Vaughn is aware of his concern for Agent Bristow. Why don't you - " 

"Thank you," Sloane breathed, holding open his jacket so they could see his empty shoulder holster. "You two are wonderful. In fact, since what we have to discuss is obviously very personal, why not take a take a moment for yourselves? I doubt anyone else is as insane as me, to come in at this time of night." 

They shared a chuckle at that. 

"We can't hear anything, really," one guard ventured. "The room is soundproof. Designed for intelligence meetings, I think." The faintest hint of envy was in his tone. What boy growing up didn't want to be a spy? The injured man inside was that and more. 

"Not even that," Sloane said easily, logging that information away. "I'm not exactly a desk jockey myself. I can handle things just in case someone _is_ as insane as I am." 

"All right," the other guard allowed. Maybe they could find chairs… 

"Gentlemen," Sloane called as they dislodged themselves from their posts. "Is there a way to cover the window? The information I have for Mr. Vaughn is quite classified…" 

"No," one man replied. "But we won't look, sir. I'll make sure no else does, either." 

"So helpful," Sloane commended them. "Have a nice break." 

Tossing salutes, they turned and left him standing alone at Vaughn's door. 

* * *

"He's in the ER right now, but he's scheduled to be moved to the fourth floor, room seven," the nurse said, voice studiously neutral. The security guard behind the Caplans raised an eyebrow. Floor four was reserved for the most notable of patients - intelligence operatives, celebrities and the like. At the moment, it housed just one patient… 

Bewildered, Elsa and Neil exchanged glances. That was _Vaughn's_ room! 

"We'll wait for him there, then," Neil drawled, draping an arm over his wife's slender shoulders and steering her towards the elevator that was just to the left of them. "My thanks, ma'am." 

She flushed, flattered. Elsa hid her smile, a bit of amusement cracking through her worry. Her husband was quite a looker, after all. 

The guard fell in step with them. "I'll go with you," he offered, still a little starstruck. "You need an escort if you don't have credentials. 

They nodded, hurrying to the elevator. Their self-appointed escort pressed the summoning button for them. 

* * *

Sloane looked over his shoulder at the small window in the closed door, noting the clear hallway carefully before removing an envelope from inside his suit jacket pocket and resting it just by the young man's hand. With deliberate slowness, he then reached up and turned down the IV, wondering as he did so why such a thing was being used. 

A few moments passed. Sloane waited patiently, reaching out to lightly nudge his shoulder. The boy shook his head as he came out of his sleep, moving his hand to rub his jaw. Sloane stepped back, waiting, as Sydney's beloved realized something new was there. Puzzled, the agent reached for it - and then opened his eyes in the process and saw Sloane peering down at him. Vaughn jerked backwards, eyes widening, recognizing the man effortlessly despite the prosthetics he wore. 

But Sloane held up empty hands, a reassuring smile on his face. "Relax, Mr. Vaughn. I'm not here to hurt or retake you." 

"Then what do you want?" Vaughn snapped, bringing his non-IV'd hand up to rub his tired eyes, and then casually returning that arm to where it had lay before; underneath the blankets. Hidden in between the mattress and metal railing of the bed, and beneath the warm bedding, was a gift from the always-protective Weiss… 

Seemingly not noticing his captive's actions, Sloane gestured toward the envelope. "Open it." 

"Why?" he asked warily, stalling, getting a grip on the revolver. 

Sloane sighed. Quicker than sight, he yanked his own pistol from behind his back and cocked it, leveling his aim without batting an eye. 

"I'm insulted, Agent Vaughn," he mocked, chuckling. "Give me the gun. Now. Or I can and will pull this trigger before you could clear your shot." 

Vaughn's jaw clenched in frustration. Sloane cocked the gun, waiting expectantly. 

"I'll only ask once more, _Michel_. The gun. Give it to me. Now." 

Gritting his teeth, Vaughn obeyed. Where were his handy marshal bodyguards? 

Sloane took it from him and tossed it carelessly across the room, never breaking eye contact in the process. "Still waiting on that envelope. I certainly hope you're a better listener in the field." And then he smiled. "Ah, but we both know the answer to _that_ question." 

Vaughn ignored him, refusing to allow Sloane the satisfaction of baiting him. Instead, he picked up the nondescript envelope and opened it slowly. There were pictures inside… 

Vaughn's breath caught. His strength fled his arm, which flopped down beside him on the bed. The pictures scattered, but remained maddeningly visible even from his prone angle. 

Sydney and Sark, caught in mid-kiss. 

"I felt I owed you those," Sloane told him, nodding at the 4x6 images. "I knew you and Sydney were working on something the moment she arrived at the Villa, Agent Vaughn. True love is impossible to fully disguise, even for two highly trained CIA agents. But I allowed you to believe I was fooled." 

Vaughn dropped his head, feeling like a trainee that had failed his very first ops training exercise. Something he himself had never experienced until now, of course. 

Sloane tapped his gun against his hand. "You see, your cooperation ultimately gave me the Rambaldi manuscript. Consider those photos my thanks. It is truly one of your most honorable qualities, Agent Vaughn, that you would endure so much for a woman that would turn on you so quickly. What do kids these days call young women like that? 'Lady Of The Night' was my word of choice when I was your age." 

It took everything he had to strangle back a retort, glancing at the pictures again to confirm what he had immediately noticed the first time he looked at them, though he had hidden his knowledge. _I will kill you for demeaning her like this_, he vowed silently, still refusing to grant Sloane any reaction. 

Sloane, meanwhile, shifted his stance. He'd done what he came here to do. 

"You may keep those," he told Sydney's former handler, gesturing with his gun at the photographs. "But I must be going. And since your guards are doubtlessly back at their posts by now, I can't exactly let you raise an alarm somehow when I open the door, hmm?" He paused as though waiting for a reply. Vaughn swallowed hard. "And as I'm sure you know, Agent Vaughn, the IV may take a bit of time to set in again, which is a risk I will not take…" 

He trailed off, moving to stand by the tray behind Vaughn's bed and studying the syringes arrayed neatly in a row on top with interest. 

"Your physician is nothing if not thorough," Sloane mused, taking his time as he picked up and compared the needles. Each one was filled with different colors and chemical combinations. "He has quite a complete collection of sedatives back here. Testing for something?" 

Vaughn didn't reply, staring helplessly at the ceiling while his captor engaged in the oldest form of mental torture - stalling and taunting. When this was over the Agency would probably have to knock him out for standard immunization shots, because he'd seen enough needles to last a lifetime. Or five. 

Enough amusement, Sloane decided. He picked up the largest needle, glancing at the label. The syringe was easily as long, and almost as thick, as Sydney's forearm and was clearly intended to be fed into the IV line on intervals, not directly injected all at once. Which he wouldn't do, Sloane mused, for it made the deed far less entertaining and possibly slower to set in. "Old standard," he informed Vaughn, who clenched his jaw. 

"Wonderful," he muttered, resigned. Sloane stepped closer to him, prepping the needle. 

"We'll see each other again," Vaughn swore, green eyes hardening into livid orbs of steel. "And when we do, you won't walk away." 

Sloane nodded agreeably, forcing Vaughn's head to the side by resting the gun on his right temple. "I eagerly await that encounter, Michael." 

And then Sloane injected the painfully colossal syringe straight into the operative's throat. Vaughn stiffened at first, gasping quietly, the immense needle seemed just as painful as the one in his dreams. But mercifully, the sedative set in rapidly and he was asleep before his captor finished. 

Sloane took his time, draining the entirety of the serum into Vaughn, continuing long after the younger man was clearly unconscious. Glancing again at the small window, he could just see the shoulders of the guards as they returned to flank the other side of the door. All they would have had to do to apprehend Arvin Sloane was to turn around or look behind them using merely the corners of their eyes, but decorum dictated they give the patient, who outranked them both to the point of ludicrousy, privacy. 

Smiling to himself, Sloane tucked his gun away and dropped the empty syringe on the floor, kicking it underneath the bed. He then turned and reached up, returning the IV to the same settings it had been on. Combined with the injection, that would keep Vaughn out for quite some time, more than enough for him to leave Los Angeles without trouble and return to Emily. 

He glanced down at himself, brushing nonexistent dust off his suit and straightening his tie. After one last glance at the slumbering boy, he headed for the door and knocked. The guards held it open for him, gratitude on their faces for his politeness in not startling them. 

"It's nice to see him sleeping peacefully," one dared to venture. The smartly dressed, confident man seemed kindly enough to not mind speaking to them. 

"Yes indeed," Sloane agreed, smiling. With a nod, he headed down the corridor… 

"Sir!" 

He forced himself to turn languidly, one hand reaching inside his trenchcoat to casually scratch his back. Or so it appeared. His gun was in easy reach. "Yes?" 

"Your pictures?" the other guard inquired, gesturing inside the room with the nose of his automatic rifle. 

"Oh," Sloane chuckled. "Those are his. A gift from Sydney." 

"Ah," the other guard said, red-faced. He reached in and closed the door. 

"Evening, gentlemen," Sloane said, removing his grip on his hidden revolver and turning once more to push the down button. The elevator dinged. 

"Evening, sir," they replied, overlapping each other as he stepped in. 

* * *

"I'm sure he's all right," Neil assured Elsa. "He comes from _us_. The kid's got to be invincible by now." 

She smiled tremulously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're right," she allowed. "You're right. I just… we're all back together and then _this_…" 

He pulled her to him and kissed her on the forehead, guard be damned. "Everything will be fine," he soothed, his hand cupping her chin. "But you know, you're even more beautiful when you're worried, I must say." 

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open. Neither one moved. Which meant neither noticed as Arvin Sloane stepped past them. 

* * *

"Governess reporting in." 

_"News?"_

"Youngest one remains in the field. Other continues to see only what you desire." 

_"And what of our recovering collateral?"_

"Any knowledge he may have that compromises us will be ignored due to questionable circumstances I have seen to myself. My visits are regular, as are the dosages, which have already begun to take effect. Consider him neutralized." 

_"Excellent. Well done. I have an errand to run."_

"Thank you, ma'am. Stet." 

* * *

He almost did it. Almost walked right onto a secured floor with none the wiser, conned two well-trained guards, ambushed an injured but skilled operative, again tricked said two guards, walked right past two people that he had kidnapped and another armed escort… all with much success. 

But almost was not a full triumph, and neither Caplan was to be underestimated. Elsa pulled away from her husband to walk into the elevator as he glided past them both and when they boarded and turned around, all three saw him and accorded him attention. It was late after all, and visitors were thus unusual. 

And then Neil went rigid. He'd know that arrogant stride anywhere. 

"You!" he blurted. Elsa, hand on the way to the press the button, stopped. 

"What is it?" she asked. He ignored her. 

"Sloane!" he barked again, astonished. 

Neil's former captor didn't turn around, quickening his pace. He reached the doors, shoes squeaking lightly on the polished tile. What could they do, really? 

And then Sloane stumbled. Confusing, that. He was older, but he still prided himself on his fitness. But even as he wondered over his clumsiness, a roar belatedly filled his ears as a blinding pain shot up his left leg. He stumbled again, barely managing to catch himself on the doorframe. 

"Move again and I'll aim higher," Elsa's resonant voice warned, frigid with hatred. He whirled to face her. The former Russian spy stood in an utterly flawless gunner's stance, her guard's service revolver in her hands and aimed at his heart. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: David has news for Jack, and Weiss has an idea for Kendall. 

**Review responses next chapter! Wheee!**


	53. Moving Day

**_Chapter Fifty One: Moving Day_**

She was magnificent. 

Neil watched his wife with a mixture of reverence and disbelief. Feet planted slightly apart, eyes as hard and unyielding as her aim, the gun held with expert looseness in both hands… 

Damn, he was a lucky man. 

"Call the police," Elsa ordered the shell-shocked security guard. Sloane leaned heavily on the doorframe, blood dripping onto the just-mopped white floor. 

He nodded and hurried to the front desk to obey, head flopping up and down so fast that a still-detached Neil wondered if it would fall off. 

"What did you do to my son?" Elsa barked at their former captor, her hatred palpable. "If you've so much as _looked _at him, I'll kill you!" 

"Then I am relieved that I don't even know where he is," Sloane drawled. If anything, he had the gall to look amused. 

Elsa glared at him, biting her lip to keep from losing her temper and distracting herself. "I don't believe you," she spat. "Why else would you be here?" 

And then Neil snapped out of his haze. If Sloane was telling the truth about Aaron - which he almost believed, since his little boy had _just_ been brought in - that left only one other person the man would visit. 

_Vaughn._

"The police are on their way," the guard blubbered nervously. "Can I have my gun back?" 

"What did you do to him?" Neil thundered, ignoring the inexperienced boy. Elsa's eyes widened, her thoughts mirroring her husband's. 

Sloane took a halting step forward, only to stagger as his injured ankle folded with strain. He fell back against the doorframe, eyes catching the reflection of a bordering window as he did so. 

"You'll find young Mr. Vaughn resting peacefully," he said between clenched teeth, leaning over to press a handkerchief to the bullet wound. The former Russian spy would owe him for this. "I did nothing to him." 

Elsa simply waited, her aim remaining steady. And she wasn't the only one. One moment, there were four against one; with one of the four armed, another near a phone, the third also trained as a spy, and the fourth in law enforcement. It seemed so easy… 

And then Sloane glanced behind himself again. Standing a little farther away, Neil inclined his head, trying to follow his gaze. And then his heart thudded against his chest, almost in tandem to Sloane's movements as the spry other man vaulted out of the way. 

Alarmed, Neil shot forward, grabbing his wife around the waist and jerking her back, just moments before a white van drove through the glass doors. He twisted her in midair, lightly plucking the gun from her hand and then forcing her to the floor, shielding her with his own body. 

Sloane too, turned away, one hand coming up to cover his face as glass flew everywhere. 

"Get in!" The van's occupant yelled at him. 

Neil, bringing the gun up to fire, froze in midair. He knew that voice… 

"Hello again, Mr. Caplan," Irina nodded to him, and not a hair was out of place. It was as though driving through buildings was a regular occurrence for her, for all the ease and relaxation evident in her stance. 

From beneath him, Elsa yelled at him to fire. But he couldn't, even as Sloane limped around the van and climbed in the passenger side. He couldn't risk hitting Irina. It was foolish and he would forever regret it, but the woman had let him go. The CIA had no doubt she had probably saved his life in doing so. _We're even now_, he thought toward her. 

So instead he crouched on the floor, one hand anchoring his wife behind him, the other aiming uselessly at the van. And he cursed himself for his morals. 

"Be seeing you," Irina smiled at him. Sloane gave him a mini-salute. The van pulled away, careening down the road with two known terrorists in tow. 

The four survivors just stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, bleeding lightly. The glass around the automatic double doors had imploded inward and outward. Everyone was injured slightly. 

Elsa turned him around. He braced himself, knowing what he'd see. Disappointment, anger, frustration… 

But even NSA recruits could be wrong, for all the brilliance in their ranks. 

"Are you all right?" she questioned. A tiny bit of glass had embedded itself over his eyelid when he had shielded her. She brought up a trembling hand to touch the wound, noting the blood. 

"Won't even scar," he assured her. 

She lowered her head, as though she couldn't even look at her husband. Shame flooded through him. 

"Elsa," he pleaded. "Elsa, I couldn't - " 

But then her chin raised high and she laughed a little, wrapping her arms around his waist and drawing him towards her. He closed his eyes, relishing her warmth. "I know," she whispered. "I love you. For that and otherwise." 

He glowed with her approval, blinking away the frustrating redness cascading into his eye. The gradual pain awoke another concern for him. "Aaron," he realized, gut twisting. "Aaron and Michael!" 

"Oh God!" Elsa breathed. Her husband was fine. What of her little boy and the man that had saved all three of them? 

"Fourth floor," the security guard interrupted, snapping out of his shock. "I'll update everyone. Go." 

Without another word, the Caplans shot for the elevator. 

* * *

"Yes?" 

_"Mr. Sark, I have an update for you."_

"Oh?" 

_"Regarding the agent."_

"I'm waiting." 

**_Two hours later _**

"This is Jack." 

_"Jack, this is David. An official report will be filed, but I wanted to tell you myself. There's uh, something you should know."_

Jack sat up straight, frowning at the tone in his old friend's voice. "Is everything all right?" he inquired, striving to keep his own voice low and neutral. 

_"Sort of. The kid had a visitor early this morning. I can't be sure of course, civilian that I am, but I believe it was our former compatriot Arvin Sloane."_

Jack froze, body turning to ice. Across the room, Eric frowned to himself at the sight of a suddenly, unexplainably, _livid_ Jack. 

"What happened?" 

David sighed. _"Security cameras show Arvin conning his way past the marshals you assigned. He was alone with _my_ patient for approximately ten minutes, half of those _your_ marshals spent somewhere besides their posts."_

* * *

The doctor paused. Unseen by Jack, a knowing smile spread across his face as he rubbed his tired eyes. "You can ask me how he is. I promise to keep that between us and not let it affect your reputation." 

* * *

More than a little worried, Weiss headed towards Jack. 

"What?" Jack asked, deep in thought, not noticing. Vaughn was clearly fine, David would not be his typical lighthearted self if something serious had happened to him. Truthfully, the elder Bristow's concerns lay not with Vaughn, but with why Sloane had risked a visit. At least that's what he told himself. 

"Is he all right?" the game theorist asked, the first question more out of obligation than anything. "Has he been able to tell you what Arvin wanted?" 

* * *

"He's… sleeping. Bastard injected him right in the throat with an IV feeder needle. Damn thing's almost as big as half my leg. What time is it? 8? If he wakes up _tonight_ at 8, I'll seriously consider releasing him." 

David groaned, rolling over in his chair and stooping down to retrieve his hidden coffee. The nurse, sitting slightly behind him at the station and typing the promised report, smirked at him. 

"He'll be fine," he continued, taking a sip and shuddering in relief as the bitter liquid invaded his senses. "I'm estimating he'll wake up tomorrow around lunch. Pinprick to bandage, but otherwise his brief return to captivity won't leave any real lasting impressions. Physically, anyway. Have you talked to Judy?" 

_"Barnett?"_

"Is there another? Jack, he really should talk to someone. Not just about this, but you know, everything…" David trailed off. 

* * *

"I'll talk to her," Jack answered briefly, still holding his emotions in check and suddenly very aware that Eric leaned on the desk behind him. 

_"Good."_

"Where are the guards? Does Va - does the wing have sufficient protection?" 

Weiss dropped his head as his fears were confirmed. 

_"I have half of Security in this hallway. Hell, I'm even wearing a sidearm myself under my scrubs. As for your two rookies, they're sitting in my office and have been ordered not to leave until you get here. Aaron Caplan is up here, too - I know it's irregular, but I _am_ Chief, and that whole family could be a target."_

Jack nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair. Eric shifted his feet. 

"When did you realize Arvin had been there?" Jack questioned, mind processing information quickly that would help him outplan and outthink Sloane at his own game. 

_"Oh. Shortly after Elsa Caplan shot him and your dead wife drove him away."_

Jack shot out of his chair with far more energy than he typically displayed. David's voice was utterly deadpan. "What was that?" 

_"You heard me. Let's see… after settling the other kid into a room, I went up to check on Michael - last night was the first time I'd actually drugged him to sleep. Which worked, by the way. I noticed right away he was lying rather oddly on the bed. I accidentally kicked something in my hurry to see what was wrong - bent down to to see what it was; damn feeder syringe. A gun, probably Michael's, had been tossed against the wall. I saw it when I bent down to pick up the needle. Sloane left him behind a little present, too."_

* * *

David swiveled in his chair, glancing at the nurse to make sure she was taking notes of his comments. She shook her head. "I'm not your secretary, you know," she groused, though she didn't seem to mind. 

"I'll make it up to you, Anna," he promised. "I'll let you wear teal scrubs instead of blue." 

She made a face at him. 

* * *

"What's going on?" 

Jack turned. Kendall had joined an increasingly impatient Weiss. 

"Sloane ambushed Mike in his room," Eric growled. 

Kendall's jaw dropped. 

_"Jack?"_

"Here, David," he answered. His audience could wait. "Continue. What did Arvin leave behind?" 

_"Pictures. Lots of them. No idea on who the people in them are. I would say your daughter, but I understand she and Agent Vaughn have a little something between them?"_

"Oh," Jack said, thrown. "Apparently, yes. I suppose." 

* * *

"The woman isn't her, because she's kissing another guy," David said. The photos sat in front of him, and he couldn't help another look. The young woman certainly _looked_ like… 

And then something else caught his eye. The woman in the pictures was kissing another man, yes, but her body was stiff. Either that man was the _worst_ kisser that ever lived (and therefore she was the most tolerant woman), or the kiss was not a willing one. 

"Well, actually, she very well could be Sydney," he mused. 

* * *

"Jack," the FBI Deputy Director said again, clearly waiting. 

Jack sat up straight again, wrapping up. Weiss he wasn't concerned about, but Kendall was not a man accustomed to being ignored. 

"David, I'll be over in a bit," he hesitated, but couldn't help himself. "Notify me of any changes." 

_"You're softening up, 'Agent Bristow,'"_ David drawled. _"Never thought I'd see the day. Will do."_

They disconnected. 

"Jack. What's this about an ambush?" Kendall crossed his arms over his chest, frowning in both concern and irritation. 

Jack stood, tucking his phone away. "Agent Weiss was correct," he informed his audience. "But Dr. Matthews says that Agent Vaughn will not be adversely affected. I will question his _former _guards myself." 

The two seasoned veterans exchanged a glance unnoticed by the more raw younger agent. Both wondered at the motive. Why would Sloane risk a visit? Reasons related to Sydney, or a simple message to the Agency that he could do whatever he liked with utterly no effort, including attacking a man under armed protection? 

Eric shook his head, obliviously frustrated and worried. "Sirs," he ground out, "and then what? You'll assign more guards for Sloane to trick? I'm beginning to wonder if Mike is safe at the hospital. I would have left him in Spain and not risked flying him back if I'd known something like this was going to happen!" 

"You have a point," Kendall told him, impressed at the way his thoughts mirrored theirs. He rubbed his forehead. 

"Are you prepared to make an alternate recommendation?" Jack inquired, amused at the younger agent's brazenness. 

"Yes I am," Eric replied without hesitation. "Transfer him to Medical Services here in the Rotunda. If he's strong enough to move on his own, he's stable enough to be brought here. We could even do it while he sleeps off the rest of whatever Sloane put in him. If someone can get to him _here_, we might as well all retire." 

Kendall pursed his lips, eyebrow raised in return as he and Jack exchanged another glance. "Thoughts?" he questioned. 

"Just one," Jack mused. "Dr. Matthews believes Vaughn is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Removing him from a familiar environment without his knowledge could do more harm than good." 

Weiss looked away. It was no surprise really, he'd seen firsthand what had been done to his friend. But hearing Michael's condition put into words - into a mental illness that he could, quite possibly, _choose _to never recover from… 

But Kendall nodded to himself. Emotion could come later. Now was the time for logic. "Easily fixed. The doctor is ex-CIA, right? Once an operative, always an operative. Matthews will be fully restored the moment I find Devlin. We'll move him with Vaughn." There was no nonsense about checking with David first. A former agent would understand priorities. 

"It's not just the doctor," Weiss put in. _I promised to help you any way I could, Mike. Even if that means telling your mother we're CIA._

The two older men turned to look at him, light dawning. 

"I apologize for being out of the loop on CIA protocol," Kendall said wryly. "Does she know?" 

"Not from Michael," Weiss replied. _Probably._

"Right. Of course not," Kendall muttered. "Go check on your friend, Agent Weiss. I'll think of something." 

"I'll have David start planning the transfer," Jack said, pulling out his phone again. 

* * *

"There's something you should know." 

Sydney waited expectantly, body curled into one of Sloane's more comfortable chairs. She simply radiated hostility and anger, and Sark hardly dared to step into the room. He didn't regret his boyish risk, but he harbored no doubt that she would enjoy showing him otherwise. Repeatedly. 

"Sark?" she snapped. 

"Right," he pronounced. "It regards Mr. Vaughn. My contact inside the hospital has rather disconcerting news." 

* * *

"Explain to me how this happened!" Weiss exploded, watching as Dr. Matthews meticulously cleaned and bandaged the slight wound on his sleeping best friend's neck. The syringe Sloane had used had been so large that the skin around the needle on Vaughn's throat had ripped on impact. 

"I'm sure your friends and mine are working on that," David assured him, dialing down the IV dosage. Vaughn hardly needed any further sedation. "Agent Vaughn will probably sleep for the rest of today, and most of tomorrow. On the bright side, he'll have made up a considerable amount of sleep he's lost since coming here. Heck, even Ms. Reed was happy about that." 

Weiss couldn't fight a smile, knowing the doctor was trying to cheer him up. But it faded quickly. "He won't wake up here." 

"I know," David sighed. "But if _armed guards_ can't stop people from terrorizing my patient, moving him to inside the Taskforce is probably the only way he'll get some peace of mind." 

"Aren't you coming?" Weiss asked, puzzled at the other man's seeming melancholy. 

"Yeah," the doctor replied. "I haven't worn credentials in a long time, kid. It'll feel kinda strange to go back." 

"But you got out of wearing a suit and tie," Weiss reminded him. "How'd you manage _that_?" 

David chuckled, finishing his task and patting Vaughn lightly on the shoulder before turning and giving Eric his full attention. "True. I think I have Jack - Agent Bristow, sorry - to thank for that." 

_Lucky bastard_, Weiss decided, absently fixing his tie. 

David smirked, guessing his thoughts. "Oh," he said suddenly. "I was wondering, kid. It probably isn't too good for Agent Vaughn to be separated from his anchor - his mother - at this point… you know about what's going on, right?" 

Weiss nodded, gratified by the man's mutual concern. "I do, sir. Actually, I think Kendall is working on that. Amélie probably knows more than we all give her credit for anyway." 

"Wouldn't surprise me," David acknowledged. He crossed the room, rubbing the edge of his stethoscope against his white overcoat before leaning over Aaron. "Good," he said to himself. 

"He'll be all right?" Weiss asked, somewhat guiltily. His concern for his friend had caused him to almost forget the boy! 

Taking care to move slowly and quietly, Elsa and Neil maneuvered around the four terse FBI agents flanking either side of the doorway on either side of the room. Every step seemed to echo like shots fired. Not that waking either patient was a concern for anyone at the moment, of course. 

"He'll be fine," David assured the room in general, gathering up his supplies and glancing meaningfully at Weiss. "He just needs to wake up." 

With one final gaze that clearly told them he was genuine, the doctor left. Weiss followed, realizing the much beleaguered family needed some time alone. The parents wasted no time hurrying to Aaron's side. 

Their son lay on a hastily made-up cot on Michael's left. A discarded oxygen mask sat off to the side; David clearly determining he was fine without it. His dark curls and almost black eyelashes stood out with frightening clarity against skin that was much too pale, and his right hand was curled into a fist. 

"Out of everything in the world," Neil said wryly. "A _bug_ bite." 

"A _big_ one," Elsa defended, kissing their son's tiny, bandaged left hand. 

"My mistake," he replied. He leaned over, smoothing Aaron's hair. "He looks like you today," he murmured. 

She glowed, the words bringing back memories of simpler times. Times when her little boy really had been little, and she could pick him up and hold him without his energetic protests. "No," she said, echoing a memory. "No, he's always looked like you." 

* * *

"Is this seat taken?" 

Amélie looked up in midbite, spoon hovering in the air, already exhausted and certainly not in the mood for idle chat with the husband of her husband's killer and his friend. "Well, actually - " 

"Good," the other man interrupted, bald head reflecting the stark hospital lighting. The two men sank into chairs facing her. "Ms. Delorme," Kendall began, lowering his voice and carefully enunciating each startling word, "I'm FBI Deputy Director Kendall. You've already met CIA Agent Jack Bristow. We need to talk to you about your son." 

Her spoon fell back on the table with a clang as she shot to her feet. "Has something further happened to him? They're transferring him to a more private hospital in about an hour…" 

Puzzled at her lack of reaction to another part of his sentence, Kendall glanced first at her, then at Jack. "He's uh, fine, Ms. Delorme. In a manner of speaking. Did you hear me? I'm FBI - " 

"Agent, Director, whoever you are and whatever I'm supposed to call you, my name is Amélie _Vaughn_. I was _married_ to a spy," Amélie snapped, barely remembering to keep her voice soft. "And since I knew what to look for, I've known Michel's secret since his recruitment. Is that what you're here to say?" 

The two men exchanged glances. 

"Well, that makes our conversation easier," Kendall mused, somewhat awkwardly. "Uh, yeah." 

"Vaughn is being transferred to the medical facility inside the Joint Intelligence Taskforce Center a few blocks away," Jack broke in, not surprised in the least at her knowledge. "The man that attacked him is being pursued, but we feel that moving him is the best way to ensure both his safety and eventual recovery." 

"Joint Intell - " Amélie started to repeat, confused. 

"Understand, Ms. Del- ah, _Mrs. Vaughn_ - that there are things we cannot tell you," Kendall interjected, wresting control of the conversation once more. "But Dr. Matthews and Agent Weiss have kept me informed as to your son's condition, and we all agree that the fastest way for him to return to the field is for you to remain at his side for right now." 

He reached into the pocket of his trenchcoat, pulling out a small interoffice envelope. "Your credentials," he said, handing it over to her. "Put that on while in the ambulance, please." 

She nodded wordlessly, tucking the tan envelope away in her purse. 

"Excellent," Kendall applauded, rising. "Don't worry, _Madame_. We will arrange for decoys, and flank all of them with the most qualified police escorts. He'll be well-guarded during both transit and in the Rotunda. No one will get near him again." 

"Good," she answered. "It's about time you realized that he needs constant, _seasoned_ protection right now." 

Jack inclined his head. Quite a woman she was. "Someone will be riding with you to fill you in on certain aspects," he informed her. "She - " he paused, looking up. _Late._ " - Ms. Reed." 

"Agent Bristow, Director Kendall," she greeted. 

Still somewhat overloaded by what she was finally being allowed to see, Amélie took her time to look up. 

"I'm NSC Agent Lauren Reed," a young British woman introduced herself. "I was with Agent Vaughn in Spain and have been cleared to answer certain questions you may have on his condition." 

"Amélie Vaughn," she smiled. _Finally, someone that will answer me!_ "Nice to meet you, but we've sort of met before, yes? Dr. Matthews and Michel both mentioned your insuring that he always has water at his bedside, for example." 

"Indeed," she admitted, shaking her hand. "Habit now, I suppose. I must tell you, ma'am, I was very impressed with Agent Vaughn. His abilities, strength and devotion make him quite a marvel." 

Amélie crossed her arms over her chest, smirking to herself. "And he's quite a fit bloke." 

Lauren flushed. "Well admittingly yes, though his obvious love for Agent Bristow makes him a bit out of touch for any fancy I might have otherwise had for him. She's a very lucky woman I daresay, but quite deserving in her own right." 

"So I hear," Amélie drawled. "I eagerly await finally meeting this Sydney." 

The two women shared a smile, forgetting entirely about their audience. The men hesitated uncharacteristically, ill-used to being ignored in such a manner. 

"We'll see you in Medical Services," Jack said at last, rising as well and following Kendall out of the commons. "I'll join you later," he added to Kendall once they were out of sight of the two women. "I have a discussion with two guards first." 

"A discussion," the other man repeated, lips pursed. 

"It might be a long one," Jack replied, deadpan. 

The Director nodded, inwardly sympathizing with the two idiots. "I'll see you there then," he replied. 

"Of course," Jack murmured, thoughts already turning darker. 

**- to be continued -**

My tremendous apologies to all my dear readers! The past two months have been incredibly hectic. But I'm back now, and I'll never disappear for this long again, okay? I swear. And thank you for your patience! 

_Up next_: Who would you trust to give a correct diagnosis? Two doctors or the patient? 

Review Responses

All right, I don't even know where to start, lol. So I just did everyone that reviewed the previous chapter. Without further ado… 

1. Gosh, it's been so long since I replied to reviews, I'm not sure UndercoverElfHM will remember me! ;) Elsa snatched the guard's gun, firecracker that she is. 

2. I'm sure Jack will make them feel more than stupid, chanel, since he assigned them and all. ;) Some things are better left to the imagination, I could never do that scene justice! lol 

3. Hey there Andi! Sloane is evil??? :o 

4. Well erm, "soon" is a figure of speech, neptunestar. :blush: Sorry! Won't do it again, I promise! 

5. I loved every second of your review, Kylie! Thanks! 

6. I'll miss you, MvsGirl! Stay safe! 

7. First of all, Ginnie, coolest name ever! Your comments meant a lot. And well, my excuse is that Vaughn isn't doing much besides sleeping, otherwise I'd write Amélie watching him shoot a gun. Oh wait, that's later. Shh, don't tell anyone. ;) 

8. "PTSD is a mental illness," she began, watching him. There was no visible reaction on his face. "There is no cure." 

9. Dear Ilovemypenguin: You rock. No, seriously. You review like clockwork, and you always put a smile on my face! Thanks! 

10. Oh, and dear sweet valley girl, you kick ass, quite simply. Review-zillas! Whoa! And I confess, I learned the word 'decorum' the same way. ;) 

11. TwinkieChica, may I get you some pillows? A massager? Tea? Crumpets? Anyone that does a marathon reading of this huge thing is my hero. My apologies to your rear. ;) 

12. A reunion, you say? Well, kittyfantastico, stay tuned. ;) Shhhh… (and THANK YOU for your always-there reviews, too! I can't wait to finish so I can check your fics out!) 


	54. True Colors

**_Chapter Fifty Two: True Colors_**

It was oddly flattering. 

Amélie sat off to the side, Lauren standing beside her, staying out of the way as nurses slipped a kelvar vest over her _mon petit_ and then covered him meticulously with several heavy blankets. "Just in case," the head nurse told her. She nodded her thanks. 

"We've arranged for three decoy processions," the NSC agent explained, speaking quietly for Aaron's sake. "All will be flanked with a motorcade of police and FBI agents believing they have the honor of escorting a genuine spy. The only people that know the truth will be inside the ambulances." 

Amélie nodded, sharing a smile with Neil. The Caplans snuggled together in a chair by Aaron's bed, Elsa's head resting on her husband's shoulder while he stroked her back and watched both his loved ones sleep. His eyes would close from time to time, but he mainly stayed awake and just admired his good blessings. Any time he had with his family were moments to treasure, far more precious than work or sleep. 

_"See you later,"_ Neil mouthed to Vaughn's mother, nodding a salute to Lauren.

"Goodbye," she murmured, not helping a little wave to Aaron, even though he slept as deeply as her own son. Nurses swept in, wheeling Vaughn away. With one last glance at the adorable family, Amélie turned and followed Michel's former rescuer out of the room. 

* * *

"It was a message for me," Sydney said quietly. 

Sark leaned with casual, unconcerned elegance against the doorframe, hands buried in his pockets. "Saying your cover has been blown?" 

"No," she snapped back, tensing automatically at his somewhat-close proximity. "No. If it had been, he wouldn't have let me come back here." 

"Unless Sloane sent me as your warden." Sark's voice was studiously neutral. 

She ignored him deliberately, not even affording him the amount of attention she'd grant to a buzzing fly. "He wanted to test my loyalty to him," she thought aloud. "By letting me know that he could get to Vaughn any time he wanted to." 

* * *

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he thanked her. 

Irina merely looked at him. "I am not accustomed to being doubted by a business partner," she informed him, absently shaking loose shards of glass off her clothing. None had pierced her, of course. 

"My apologies," Sloane answered. "But I was under the impression that you and Jack - " 

She looked at him again, brown eyes hardening into flints of steel. 

"Does he suspect anything?" he asked her, meeting her glare resolutely. 

"Jack knows nothing." 

* * *

Amélie held Vaughn's hand tightly, as though she was drowning in a lake and he was her life preserver. He didn't stir, of course, but she still sat close and ran her other hand through his hair, counting the minutes until they arrived. 

"Five more blocks," Lauren whispered, not knowing why she did so. It wasn't like she could wake him up. But whispering at a time like this seemed fitting. 

It made the shame in her voice harder to hear. 

* * *

"Your logic is uneven, Sydney." 

She studied him with exaggerated interest. "Oh?" 

If anything, the younger man looked disappointed in her. "Should Mr. Sloane still believe the rhetoric you handed to him, he would also be convinced in your lack of interest regarding Mr. Vaughn." Sark's voice was equal parts smug amusement and dry sing-song mockery. "In which case, he would not bother risking a visit to the agent to present you with a message." 

* * *

All quiet in the ambulance. 

Lauren and David sat side-by-side on the other side of Vaughn's bed, facing Amélie. All breathed unconsciously in tandem with the light beeping of Vaughn's heart monitor. The presence of the deeply sleeping agent was enough to anchor the peaceful and quiet quality of the room. No one spoke. No one moved. 

Until the ambulance slammed to the right and jerked to a screeching halt, and Amélie flew across her strapped-down son to land on Lauren and David. For a moment they just sat there, frozen. And then someone began banging on the doors, the sound ricocheting through the metal enclosing. Amélie jumped with every blow, while David and Lauren exchanged grim looks. Whoever was doing that was not an ally. 

"Here," Lauren snapped, snatching a spare pistol from her ankle and tossing it to David. He accepted it, cocking the gun with expert ease. Amélie's eyes widened at the foreign sight. Gone was the good-natured, wise-cracking doctor. In his place stood a trained killer. 

"_Madame_," David said to her with quiet regret, realizing some of her fear was directed at _him_. "No one will get to Michael, I promise. But whatever happens, stay back here with him, all right?." 

She nodded, scared but strong. "Do you have another of those?" Amélie asked Lauren, watching as she drew her own gun. The agent arched an eyebrow but surrendered it over to Vaughn's mother and pulled her final spare from behind her back. 

"We know he can't fight back," one attacker called from outside, and all noted the unusual, slightly high pitch. "Surrender and I might even be nice to him." 

David fought to control his breathing, moving to stand beside Lauren with his gun ready. Amélie returned to Michel's side, gripping her own pistol so hard that her knuckles turned white. She'd never fired one before, but she'd gladly shoot every damn bullet to protect her unconscious child. 

"Ready?" she murmured. He nodded. 

Without further ado, they kicked the ambulance doors open and fired wildly. David moved, putting himself in the direct middle of the opening as he jumped down, providing a shield for Vaughn with his own body. 

Lauren waited, eyes flying as she scanned the perimeter. They were surrounded. 

"Get down from there!" David yelled at her from the street, even as he struggled to find and shoot the man that had spoken to them; the one that was leading whoever these people were. "Close the damn doors!" 

Flushing at her belated realization, Lauren did so. Amélie let out a gasping breath as safety once more closed in on her. The gun slipped from numb fingers, and she buried her head on Vaughn's left shoulder. 

* * *

Sloane checked his watch, trying to ignore the beautiful woman perched unconcernedly in a chair on the other side of the room. 

"I am aware of your difficulties with my current proceedings," Irina mused into the silence. 

He raised his head, glaring. "I did not approve his involvement!" 

Irina flashed him a smile, shoulders rising with innocent charm. "I did." 

* * *

There had to be at least 20 ambushers, all arrayed around them in a circle. David continued to fire, crouched on his knees and nearly underneath the bumper. If he had time, he'd wonder how and why he hadn't been hit. But he didn't. So instead he aimed and shot, and was dimly aware of Lauren doing the same. 

And then it was all over. 

David swore grotesquely to himself as the trigger clicked on his now-empty chamber. Burning with frustration, he tossed the useless gun aside and raised his hands, rising to his full height and moving to stand in front of the doors. Beside him, Lauren followed suit. 

"You're one brave doc," a man spoke up, appearing with a swagger from the side of the ambulance. Lauren went rigid, eyes shooting sparks of utter hatred. 

"Gotta say," McKenas Cole said cheerfully, "I'm impressed." 

* * *

Something was wrong with him. 

Images and sounds flowed wildly through Vaughn's sedated mind, melding past and present together into an endless kaleidoscope of shimmering energy. Though he remained forcibly comatose, unaware of his present danger, his subconscious worked with almost frantic pace, knowing time was long past to solve his problem. 

Something was wrong with him! 

It was akin to the incessant beeping of an alarm clock, or the crying of a needy infant. He tried to shy away from it all, tried to return to oblivion. But his mind persisted over his wishes. Amidst the nagging, Vaughn dreamed. 

Sydney was there. Or at least a woman he would normally recognize as the woman he loved, though his subconscious, dampened somewhat by drugs, failed to register her. All he felt were stirrings of emotion. This woman was warm. Loving. Kind. Beautiful. Her mere presence put him at peace. He relaxed. 

But then the dream changed. Suddenly another corporal portrait entered his mind. Beautiful as well, though there was an edge to her. 

Something was wrong with him! 

He tried to focus on her, tried with all his strength to see who she was. And he succeeded, somewhat. She turned his direction, standing a football field away, a soft smile on her lush lips. He relaxed farther, knowing he could trust her, too. 

Then the light around her darkened as she tossed her hair. Steel permeated her lithe frame and ice clenched her fists. Where she had previously been so kind, nothing but cruelty remained. He recoiled, repulsed by the emotions emanating from her. 

She moved closer, speaking in tones that were both soothing and threatening. He tried to withdraw, fighting desperately as her senses smothered his own. She laughed, horrible sounds that echoed like gunfire. And then she leaned over him, stifling his resistance with one touch from hands as painful as a lash. Only then did he see her for what she truly was. 

She didn't have one face. She had two. 

And then the drug won out once more, dissipating his internal struggle into a million shards of meaningless flashes of light. The information continued its onslaught, but Vaughn was now kept from recognizing anything for what it was. His fear disappeared, because it hadn't happened in the first place. 

Something was wrong with him! 

And then the drug won out once more, wiping his memory clean entirely. Nothing was wrong with him, because he was nothing. He was oblivion. 

Vaughn faded even more into himself, forcibly comatose in more ways than one. 

* * *

"You," Lauren spat. David glanced at her, noting in surprise that she was trembling in utter hatred. She had seemed so collected before. 

"Me," Cole repeated with a chuckle, waving his hands around for emphasis. He cocked his head, eyeing her with interest. "You look familiar," he said, squinting. "Have you and I…" he inclined an eyebrow, licking his lips lasciviously. 

"How _dare_ - " 

"Look," David cut in quickly. He edged a step toward Lauren, his hands still in the air, keeping his voice and eyes calm. Two helpless lives inside the ambulance depended on him. "What do you want?" 

"What do I want?" he echoed. Sirens began to rush towards them. "I want a shot of whiskey, and maybe the company of a beautiful and naked blonde woman." 

Lauren clenched her jaw and looked away. 

"But I'll take a hostage to torture in consolation," Cole mused. He smirked at them. "Especially the guy that screwed me over back at SD-6." 

David gulped. He'd read Vaughn's file before the patient had arrived from Spain, he knew exactly who Cole was and what he was referring to. If he got his hands on Vaughn, a currently vulnerable man he already held a grudge for… 

"The police and the Agency will be here any moment," David warned him, thoughts racing along like their rescuers hopefully were, too. "Prison escapee, known terrorist, shooting at and attempting to kidnap CIA agents and an NSC representative… you stay here and you're looking at a needle." 

Cole applauded him, grinning broadly. "Man!" he exclaimed. "The next time I need a doc, I'm sending someone to get you!" 

"I'm flattered," David replied calmly, an emotion he was far from feeling. _No one_ was kidnapping his patient on his watch! 

"What's it going to be?" Lauren snapped. Her raised hands clenched into fists, and her gaze burned both men. She was enraged, far more angry than David thought she should be. 

In response, Cole shouldered his rifle and stepped between them, towards the doors. David watched powerlessly. Other henchmen moved forward, holding the two of them in place. 

"Hey!" Cole yelled at one of his men, resting his hands on the door handles. "Where's the van? I'm not wheeling this guy down the road!" 

"Coming, sir!" 

"You're talking about kidnapping a man that can't even breathe on his own," Lauren interjected. "Shit-for-brains! What would that gain you?" 

"Mula," he drawled in return. The doors opened with a clang, startling a still-shocked Amélie. "Lots and lots of _mula_." 

He swung himself into the ambulance by the handles, smirking broadly at his still-sleeping prisoner. "Hello again, you son of a bitch," he greeted Vaughn, smiling nastily at Amélie. "We're gonna have all kinds of fun when you wake up, hmm?" 

"Stay away from him!" the mother ordered, stepping up to block Cole's way. He rolled his eyes, bringing up a hand to swat at her face in the same innocuous way a kitten would strike at a teased ball of string. But far harder. 

Amélie flew against the end of Vaughn's cot, the small of her back colliding painfully with the metal edge, her breath escaping in a whoosh of cold air. Reeling from the impact, she pitched forward uncontrollably - and would have fallen face-first into the hard gravel of the road if David hadn't lunged out of his guards' grips, raced forward, and caught her. 

Cole cocked an eyebrow, golf-clapping his approval at David's aerobics, even as he glared pointedly at his men. Within minutes, the two were forcibly separated and held in unyielding grips. 

"So," Cole said brightly, taking his own sweet time to move to Vaughn's side. He turned to face his furious audience, crossing his arms and leaning against the right side of the cot. "You can't come with us, even though _that_ would be fun. But - " 

He reached over, tucking a few loose strands of Vaughn's hair into place. Amélie jerked against the men holding her, furious. "You gave me a year in Solitary," he hissed, leaning in mockingly towards Vaughn's ear and flashing his audience a savage grin in the process. "You stole a_ year_ of my life!" 

And with that, he reared back and slapped him, an open-handed blow that wrenched Vaughn's head to the side and left an angry red mark on his cheek. He didn't react, still defenselessly unconscious. But Lauren did. 

"You twat-faced wanker!" she exploded, moving towards the man and actually dragging her restrainers with her. Another of Cole's men was forced to hold onto her; hair flying every which way and eyes flashing with rage, she seemed a mad banshee. David watched in fascination; there was no fear in her stance. "You absolute toss-pot! How can you attack an injured man?" 

Cole shrugged. Amélie struggled harder as the awaited van arrived. "Like this," he informed them, raising a hand for another blow. 

The sirens had stopped. David sagged against the men holding him, waiting impatiently. His efforts were rewarded. The henchmen restraining him, while doubtlessly wondering why he had suddenly fainted, loosened their grips. 

And he wasted no time, again jerking himself free and tackling Amélie and the men flanking her, sending all four of them to the ground. Lauren too, noticing the odd silence, wrenched herself loose and also threw herself down. 

"What?" Cole snapped, incredulous. He moved away from Vaughn and stood on the edge of the ambulance landing, scowling dangerously. "Get them up!" 

But they were out of the way now. David, Lauren and Amélie stayed low, not daring to move as bullets suddenly rang over their heads. Weiss, Dixon and others fired continuously, each one careful to not hit their assets, but also aiming without mercy. 

Cole leaped down, head bowed, and ran to the nearby van without looking back. His hired help followed suit, releasing the hostages. One risked the driver's seat. The van peeled away in a hail of sparks from fired rounds. Sirens began to sound once more as police abandoned their hiding spaces to make chase. 

"Go!" Dixon yelled at David, waving an operative forward to nudge the dead driver out of the way and fire up the ambulance's engine once more. David didn't hesitate, vaulting through the doors and hurrying to Vaughn's side while Lauren helped Amélie up. The doctor didn't look up as the NSC Agent closed the doors, instead bending over his patient. 

For his part, Vaughn remained in a peaceful, albeit drugged state, his breathing and heartrate steady. No stray bullet had come near him, and aside from the fading red mark on his cheek from Cole's blow, he remained undisturbed. David breathed a sigh of relief. 

"He's all right?" Amélie murmured, sinking back down into her seat with a wince as her bruised back touched the cold metal side. Lauren reached across her, pulling an ice pack from the cabinet to her right and offering it helpfully. Vaughn's mother accepted it gratefully. 

David glanced down at himself, noting the blood on his knees from where he had thrown his aging body against the rough pavement. "I'd say he's best out of all of us," he replied, watching as Lauren rubbed at bruises on her arms. "For once." 

Amélie was the first to laugh, a brief hiccup of hysteria and relief. It was enough to break the tension; Lauren and David joined her shortly afterwards. The merriment increased when David glanced out the ambulance windows to spot Weiss driving the car directly behind them. The agent waved, the utterly casual action sending all of them into stitches. 

* * *

"We need to talk." 

Kendall glanced up from the helicopter camera following Vaughn's suddenly _very_ well-protected emergency vehicle, fighting a yawn. That had been close - too close. Would it not have been for Lauren's quick action… 

Watching it from afar, he felt as though future years of his life had exhausted itself in worry. And he didn't even have slightly more familial attachments. 

"What about, Jack?" 

He compressed his lips together. The other directors flocked to join them, sensing something was up. 

"Irina." 

* * *

_"How'd we do?"_

"I am to be commended for my quick action in saving Agent Vaughn from you. Any questions concerning my loyalty have been laid to rest. Just as she predicted." 

_"Excellently done, sister dear. She will be very pleased."_

**- to be continued -**

_Up next_: Is she evil? Is she good? And who is 'she'? There's more than one. 

Review Responses

Ouch. Only 9 reviews? :sniffle: I know I disappeared, but I came back! Don't leave me! Come back, too! 

Mgterps: You people that marathon-read are my heroes, seriously. May I get you a pillow? S/V in the same room, hmmm? I'll see what I can do. ;) 

Anonymousthinker: I am a proud lactose intolerant viewer, too! ;) Although I confess, I like my Lauren. Maybe because she seems to be so OOC from the show, or maybe because I picture Kelly Rutherford starring in my story? Who knows. lol 

Kay10197: Yes ma'am! 

Liz: Another marathon reader! My profound apologies to your buttocks. lol 

Ginnie: Hee, yes it was! And Lauren-aka-Master-of-Subtlety just kept going! Oops. 

valley-girl2: Lemme tell you a secret. I named him "Dr. Matthews" first, and only put in "David" as an afterthought 'cause I was tired of him being all-official. I didn't even notice what I'd, you know, _actually_ named him until someone asked me if I was a fan. D'oh. And adore your review-zillas! ;) 

Teaser: "_Madame_, my name is Dr. Judy Barnett and I'm the staff psychiatrist. May I speak with Agent Vaughn alone, please?" 

Ilovemypenguin: No, _you_ rock! You're so sweet! :hugs: 

Delordra: Oh my goodness! Hi! I must say, it was thrilling to to see your name and recognize a fellow Toaster! Hmmm… Irina and Sloane seem quite buddy-buddy at the moment. Or they're playing each other. Take your pick. 

Kittyfantastico: At their _graves_? You're meaner than me! But I confess, I should probably add a character death warning for a few chapters from now… :x 

**Reviews are cherished!**


	55. Assumed Diagnosis

**_Chapter Fifty Three - Assumed Diagnosis_**

He had never been so nervous. 

Vaughn stood backstage, watching nervously through a hole in the curtain. Every time he blinked, more rows in the bleachers filled up! 

"Watcha doin'?" 

He turned, pasting on a smile and hiding his trembling hands. "Nothing." 

Sydney laughed, advancing the space between them and leaping at him. Muscles primed from countless rehearsals, he caught her easily. 

"You'll be fine," she whispered, burrowing her head underneath his chin. He rested his head on hers, relaxing. 

For a moment, they just stood there. Roadies moved rapidly around them, fans' screaming permeated every corner of the arena, and the smell of seat and stale coffee stained the air… but the only variable that mattered was in his arms. 

"Hey!" Eric grumbled. "Time is money, people! Mike, unless this is a new dance move, put her down and get ready to go out!" 

Vaughn rolled his eyes, ignoring his manager. "Sorry," he breathed to Sydney. 

But she laughed, kissing his neck. "You gonna play the guitar for me?" 

He set her down, accepting said instrument from one of the interns. The blonde man - boy, really - promptly blushed, amazed that he would acknowledge him. 

"Of course," he told his love. "Whatever you want, Syd." 

"Mike!" Weiss hollered. "Now! Stage! Show! Go!" 

With one final nod, he turned his back on her. 

"Hey!" Sydney called. 

He glanced over his shoulder, fingering the wooden guitar. 

"Break a leg," she grinned. 

With one final smile, he turned reluctantly, moving away from her. 

"I think he's waking up now," the security guard quipped from off to the side. Set on his task, Vaughn ignored him. 

The screaming increased as he emerged - to the point that the pores of his body plugged closed. 

And Lauren stood waiting patiently onstage, accepting the guitar he gave her with a grateful smile. _Thanks_, she mouthed. 

"All right, Denver," she yelled to her fans as he slinked off, heading back into the wide expanse that was backstage. "Who's ready to party?" 

The lighting increased as she stroked the strings, blending all the colors of the rainbow into one continuous sphere. He squinted, trying to look away, but the invading brightness followed him. His struggles to save his eyes turned violent, his body spasming wildly. But with every helpless thrash, his ability to discern what was happening faded just as quickly as the lights brightened….. 

And then, suddenly, it was over. Vaughn's eyes shot open. 

"Hey, buddy." 

More than a little flummoxed, but unable to remember why, he turned his head towards Weiss' voice. "What - " he started, then stopped. His throat ached. 

"_Ici_," another voice murmured, holding a water bottle to his lips. ("Here.") Vaughn closed his eyes again and drank without protest. His neck ached and his right cheek throbbed - two relatively new pains he either didn't recall or only vaguely remembered - and it looked like he had been moved into Operations, although he clearly had not because his mother was the one helping him drink… 

Amélie removed the water, smiling down at him. "How do you feel?" 

He blinked, even more puzzled. Why was she speaking to him in English? 

"Not even a hello?" Eric drawled from off to the side, reappearing in the corner of his eyeline. Vaughn again forced his eyes open - why was he so tired? - to meet his best friend's gaze. 

"Hi," he managed. "Where - " 

"You're in Medical Services. In the Rotunda," Weiss answered, smoothing down his rumpled suit. He'd spent the past four hours avoiding his duties entirely and watching over his friend - because damnit, Vaughn had been through enough and Weiss would do anything, including risking a lecture, to make sure the only concern his friend had to worry about now was recovering. 

Lauren had been there for most of that time as well. Though Lindsey eventually had called her away, she had further earned his gratitude by first running out to find Mike water when he awoke… 

But Vaughn, far from content, glared at his friend in horror. _Eric! My mother is in the room!_

"Nice to see you awake, Mike," Weiss babbled, groaning inwardly as he remembered one concern that he couldn't help him with. At the very least, he could get out of the way. With a nod to the two Vaughns, he turned on his heel and left. 

"Eric!" Michael shouted after him. It was an effort that proved to be too much, he dissolved into coughing as his friend hurried back. 

"Easy, Mike," Weiss said dryly. Amélie tried to help her son with another drink, but he shooed her away. 

"Eric - Sydney - Sloane, he… he - " coughs again, this time painful. His injured lung and ribs, as well as his forced _long_ nap, ensured that speaking quickly took tremendous effort. 

"Calm down," Weiss ordered him, alarmed. "There's no rush, Michael. What's wrong?" 

Vaughn shook his head in frustration. His coughs were forceful, possibly wrenching enough to tear apart stitches. Certainly enough to irritate his chest and back. 

That was enough for his mother. "Finding the doctor," she murmured, leaving hastily. Neither man noticed. 

"Talk to me when you can, Michael. Or I can find you a pen." 

"Eric," he tried again, pacing himself. "Sloane knows." 

Eric perched himself on the edge of his bed, arms crossed. "Knows what?" 

"Everything," Vaughn whispered, and the agony over his heart was not just from his wound. "_Everything._" 

"He told you this?" 

Vaughn nodded. The room spun from his sudden energy. "He said - " - _cough_ - " - he said that he - " another fit. He doubled over. _Damnit!_ Sydney's life was at stake! 

Weiss hurried to his side, turning up his oxygen for him. He relaxed a little, opening his mouth to continue. But Eric held up a hand to stop him. 

"I'll be back later," he said, heading for the door. His friend clearly needed to rest. "Chill out, Michael." 

"No," Vaughn wheezed. _Wheezing is better than coughing, right?_ "No! Eric! Listen! Sloane knows that - " 

But his friend was already gone. Already stretched far past his limits, despite his desperate attempts to fight his exhaustion and warn someone, _anyone_, Vaughn fell back asleep moments later. 

* * *

Lindsey studied her for a long time, eyes sliding lewdly up and down her body. She stared straight ahead, carefully hiding any emotion. _When this is over_, she swore, _I - _

His hand extended - 

"Are you off your trolley?" she hissed, stepping back. "Someone could walk in this room at any moment!" 

He raised an eyebrow. "You're a beautiful woman, Lauren." 

"That is completely uninterested in you," she snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must check in with Dr. Matthews." 

Smirking to himself, he stood back and let her pass. 

* * *

Arvin Sloane was not a fool. He knew, and always had known, the stories whispered about him. 

_The man is incarnate evil,_ went the gossipers, the police officers, the Intelligence agents and even his friends and allies. _Cross him and you won't live to regret it._

Fear was a useful tool. That and appealing to civic duty were perhaps the most successful techniques he had ever ever employed. 

Which meant his failure at frightening or subduing the man sitting across from him was more than frustrating. 

"It's been awhile, Arvin," Cole smirked. "How've you been?" 

* * *

Will Tippin hated hospitals. 

It was a rather childish fear, of course. But ever since his involuntary dental surgery, anything remotely related to such a thing sent chills up his back. And with its needles and probes and clinical smell, where he stood was the last place he'd normally want to be. 

But none of that mattered. What _did_ matter was the little boy slowly waking up inside the room he stood outside. 

* * *

When Vaughn awoke again, Jack sat in the chair beside his bed. The older man's brown eyes burned with fierce intensity, and Vaughn straightened reflexively. Whatever Jack wanted, it was important. 

"I reviewed the tape," the elder Bristow told him, nodding to something. Puzzled, Vaughn followed his gaze. A camera had been mounted on the wall, overlooking him. The red flash of the power indicator was almost in tandem with the beeps from his heart monitor. 

Relief shot through Vaughn. Eric had put his injured friend's health first, not pursuing conversation out of worry that he wasn't strong enough for it. Jack Bristow harbored no such consideration. Sydney came first. 

Thank God. 

"Jack," Vaughn managed. "Sydney - " 

He didn't blink, leaning forward more. "What did Sloane say?" he demanded, cutting Vaughn off. If speaking was a hardship to the boy, he didn't want Vaughn to waste his words on repeated information. That wouldn't help either of them, or his daughter. 

"He knew we weren't loyal to him," Vaughn told him, somewhat guiltily. It had been his plan, after all. 

"How long?" 

But he shook his head, coughing slightly from exertion. Jack forced himself to sit back. He _was_ concerned for Vaughn, but he was also a man that survived by ranking emotions in order of prominence and dealing with them accordingly. And right now, worry for his daughter was paramount. 

"The beginning," Vaughn croaked out, his voice softer than a whisper. And he was tired again, so tired, but he didn't care. Someone had to help her! 

Jack paused, thoughtful. If that were true, why not kill them outright? Why allow Sydney to travel with hardly any supervision? 

"He could have been - " he began to say. 

But Vaughn cut _him_ off. "We both know he wasn't bluffing." 

Jack sighed. And then another thought occurred to him. "Does he know of Sark's betrayal?" 

Something flashed in Vaughn's green eyes, a very different kind of betrayal on his mind. "I… nothing he said indicated that." 

"What's going on?" 

They both turned toward towards the door, Vaughn moving sluggishly but with growing strength behind his actions. David and Amélie stood together, the latter clearly uneasy with Jack's close proximity with her son. She had told the husband of her husband's murderer that she didn't mind his visits, but… 

"I'll come back," David drawled, understanding what they were doing. "Five minutes. You all right, Agent Vaughn?" 

It took him a moment to respond, not used to such formality from the free-spirited doctor. "Yeah," he replied. _No. Not until she's home._

"Good." 

And then David turned away, lightly pulling Amélie with him. "C'mon," he said to her as they disappeared down the hall. "Let's take a tour." 

* * *

Irina chose that moment to walk in and join them at the table, thus ending any chance Sloane had at replying. 

"You were successful?" she snapped at Cole, warning him with her eyes that she would not tolerate any male testosterone battles. 

Her longtime operative nodded. "We used blanks, except for with the cops, and scared the bejeezus out of everyone," he confirmed. "And lil' Laurie saved the day." 

"Thus removing her as a possible suspect in the future," Irina filled in for Sloane. 

For his part, the other man merely raised an eyebrow. _I already know what you're up to, Irina._

* * *

"And this is the coffee nook," David said, pointing extravagantly at a perhaps the CIA's dirtiest corner. The smell of coffee all but oozed off the walls to palpably cover anyone that walked by. 

"It's very homey," Amélie answered diplomatically, fighting a smile at the other man's mock-enthusiasm. 

The doctor glanced down the hallway where she was allowed to wander. Vaughn's door was hardly five feet away. 

"And thus concludes our tour," he grinned sheepishly. "This place is bigger, really." 

"I believe you," she assured him. He laughed. 

"Well, now we can - " 

"Excuse me." 

They turned. Lauren stood in the doorway that marked the line Amélie was ordered not to cross. 

"Ms. Reed?" David questioned. 

"Sorry to interrupt," she apologized, nodding a greeting to Vaughn's mother. "But may I have a word in private?" 

* * *

"Jack, you still owe me an explanation," Vaughn reminded the man, pulling himself up a bit. 

"For what?" Sydney's father asked, with innocent curiosity that fooled no one. 

Vaughn waited. Jack could take the hint, or he would ask again, and ignore the cameras. 

Jack sighed, fiddling with his watch. "We have 90 seconds," he said curtly. "Mr. Vaughn - " 

"You had me cover for _Sark_," Vaughn growled. "Why? I would think the Agency would want to know that both him and Derevko are plotting against the United States!" 

Jack didn't flinch, ordering him with his eyes to calm down. "But you're wrong, Mr. Vaughn," he answered simply. "They're working for us." 

* * *

"Dr. Matthews, thank you for meeting with me. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important." 

He smiled, remaining upright until the lithe blonde stepped past him and sank into a chair. Conduct becoming of a gentleman. 

"Agent Vaughn will be settled for the night soon," he assured her, sitting down. _As you well know, since your daily visit is already scheduled, right before the sedative kicks in. Why are you asking me?_ "Can I help you, Agent Reed?" 

She folded her hands on the table, absently tossing her hair away from her face. "Forgive me," she said. "I don't wish to seem a nag. But I do want confirmation that you are following my orders." 

He sighed. It always depressed him to obey someone younger than him. When this was over, he planned to barricade himself inside the hospital and never leave. "To the letter." 

Lauren nodded to herself. "Have you noticed a change in Agent Vaughn's behavior?" 

David pursed his lips, hands drumming on the table lightly. "Not really," he answered thoughtfully. 

She frowned, clearly disappointed. "Well, it may take time to set in." 

"Probably," he agreed. "But I'll keep you updated." 

"Thank you," she smiled. "Have a good night." 

* * *

"Where is Emily?" 

Sloane folded his hands on the table, studiously ignoring Cole. "She is en route to the Villa," he answered Irina. "She believes I am out shopping for glass to replace what Sydney destroyed during her… entrance." 

"What about Pigtails?" Cole perked up. 

They ignored him, much as parents would ignore an insolent child. 

"I have to check in with Jack," Irina murmured. 

Sloane eyed her, studying her every reaction with seasoned skill. "Will he comply?" 

"He will do anything to save Sydney," she answered curtly. "We have the manuscript, and the weapon. All we need now are codes to disengage satellite coverage over Los Angeles." 

Sloane nodded. "Mr. Sark will take Ms. Bristow into custody when Emily arrives, per our arrangement." 

* * *

Amélie paced in the hallway, staring at the cold gray tile lining the floor. The voices of her _mon petit_ and the husband of her husband's murder floated lightly off the walls, though the design of the building made it impossible to discern specific words. 

And then the cracked door to Michel's room opened fully and Jack Bristow stepped out. The man paused when he saw her, an unreadable expression passing over his face. 

"Good afternoon," Amélie forced herself to say, her previous, David-influenced good humor vanishing as she tensed at his presence. 

"Good afternoon," he answered, suddenly the untouchable man once more. 

The door opened behind them, drawing parents' attention. An older blonde woman stopped where she was, sensing their unrest. Her blue eyes flicked over them, glints of worry reflecting clearly. This, while unavoidable, would not help her patient. 

"Sorry for bothering you," she apologized, keeping her voice warm. "_Madame_, my name is Dr. Judy Barnett and I'm the staff psychiatrist. May I speak with Agent Vaughn alone, please?" She stressed Vaughn's title deliberately, knowing the other woman needed to become accustomed to both it and her son's true lifestyle. 

Amélie nodded, stepping back out of the way to allow the woman entry. Whatever she felt at the moment took lesser priority to her very real worry for her son's uncharacteristically delicate state. He seemed almost defeated. 

"Thanks," Barnett smiled, nodding a greeting to Jack. Amélie smiled back, though somewhat tremulously. "He'll be fine," the doctor murmured softly, right before she closed the door. "It may take some time, but he'll be fine." 

For his part, Vaughn still was more than a little confused about what exactly was going on. Things were happening far too quickly, the drugs enhancing everything to the point that the world seemed to swirl around him, active and beautiful and _alive_. And he, meanwhile, just stood and watched, detached from it all. 

"It's good to see you again, Michael," she greeted him, coming to sit by his side. 

"Yes," he agreed, the words on autopilot. All he wanted to do was sleep. _Normally_. But the dreams would come if he tried… 

"I'm not going to mince words," Barnett said, bluntly. It was a technique that worked almost immediately, Vaughn reflexively turned all of his attention on her. "You and I both know something is wrong." 

"Glad you're here to tell me these things," he snapped back. And then his eyes widened. What the hell was wrong with him? "I'm sorry, I... I don't know where that came from." 

She chuckled, resting her chin in one hand. "It's all right. That's good, actually. Michael… has Dr. Matthews talked to you at all?" 

"About?" he asked, lost. 

Barnett braced herself. "He believes that you are suffering from a version of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And Michael, I agree with him." 

He stared at her, shocked. They were wrong, of course. He wasn't at full health, but that hardly indicated he had _that_. 

_Denial is the first step._ Barnett leaned forward, simply the personification of reassurance. "I'm not here to instantly fix anything," she told him carefully. "If I could do that, I would have done it by now. But I _am_ here to talk about whatever you want to talk about. Strictly on _your_ terms, not mine or any agency." 

He shook his head in fervent denial, astonished. "Dr. Barnett, with all due respect, I - " 

"What do you know about PTSD?" she asked him. "Can I tell you about it? It's the best way to prove that you either do or do not have it." 

"All right," he allowed. _Couldn't hurt._

She nodded, leaning back in the chair and relaxing. No notes were in her hands. Reading off slips of paper would be far too clinical, far too unfeeling. 

"PTSD is a mental illness," she began, watching him. There was no visible reaction on his face. "There is no cure." 

For some reason he could not explain, that amused him. _I feel much better now!_ But he said nothing. 

"Those afflicted with PTSD relive their experiences or like intense situations through dreams," she continued. He paused, thrown out of his reverie. _It couldn't be…_ "Normal sleep, at least for awhile, becomes a thing of the past. Sudden stimulations such as loud noises reverberate like bombs going off. The slightest words in a simple conversation can send a patient flashing back." 

His breath caught. There were tears in his eyes, something that startled him because he couldn't remember shedding them. Barnett leaned forward and took his hand, knowing he was too bewildered to not allow it. 

"I'm going to be honest with you, and I hope you will do me the same courtesy," she told him. "We could be wrong, Michael. From Dr. Matthew's notes, it looks like most of your symptoms appear when you're asleep. Though this may vary, he scribed that you seem fine when you're awake." 

Vaughn hesitated. His mind reeled with chilling implications - C_ould they be right? Am I just in denial?_ - and it was _almost _enough to make him lose confidence in himself. 

But at the same time, his mind was fighting back against such a ridiculous idea. Was he at his full strength? No, admittingly not. Was there _something_ wrong in the mental arena? Probably. 

But was it PTSD? 

He was hardly an expert on the disease; much of what Barnett, who was currently sitting quietly and letting him think with no interruption, had told him was new information. But he knew _himself_. And like any self-respecting intelligence operative, he had unusually high capabilities of compartmentalizing and could thus detach his analyzations of himself into almost clinical, third party observations. 

And even those observations _knew_ the medical experts, who clearly meant well, were _wrong_. Very, very wrong. But would they believe _him _over their knowledge? If things were reversed, he doubted _he_ would trust himself. 

"Dr. Barnett," he started. She leaned forward, compassion evident as she still held his hand. That in itself would usually disturb him, he neither wanted nor needed anyone's pity. But the woman was so dedicated, so genuinely worried for him, that he actually found it rather touching. 

"I… thank you for your concern, but I - " 

She nodded to herself, saying nothing. 

_Does that mean she doesn't believe me?_

**- to be continued -**

_Up next:_ Barnett and Vaughn's first 'session' ends horribly. Oh dear. 

Review Responses

So. I was having an absolutely horrible day a couple of weeks ago. Seriously, it couldn't have been more awful. I hopped online to escape, happened to check my FF.net stats… and learned that, somehow, Presages had gotten over 700 reviews. 

7-frickin'-hundred. 

I know I don't say it enough. But from the bottom of my heart, **THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!!!!** You guys are just too awesome for words, and I looooove you! Kisses! 

But, anyway. 

Ginnie: David's a smart guy. And I love him. ;) But if Sloane is working with Irina, and Cole is working for Irina, and Lauren is working for Irina, and David is following Lauren's orders, well… (But then, Irina is also working with Jack. Does that mean Cole, Sloane, Lauren, David are working for him too?) 

UndercoverElfHM: Alias/SW, hmm? I confess, no. LOL. But lemme know how that works out for ya! 

Kizume Bass: First of all, thanks for the advice! :hug: As for your questions… I'm excited and waiting impatiently and Weiss is Vaughn's friend, not Syd's, so ew. lol 

Raina: I hid a what? :whistles: 

CoMiCQueeN217: I would be honored if you added me to your favs! Please do! I'm also a paying member of FF, so you can do Author Alerts with me, too. :) 

Teaser: "When I help a patient, I usually don't almost give him a heart attack!" 

valley_girl2: A Jinnie Shield, hmm? Snerk. ;) And I confess, it originally ended on a cliffhanger, where the van arrived before Weiss et al did. See? I'm nice. :P 

Mgterps: Yes, yes he does. Stay tuned. lol 

Iverson: Yes, don't flunk because of me! I'd feel guilty! 

Vicky: Awww, you're so sweet! Thanks! :hugs: 

Kay10197: Well, erm, 'soon' is such a broad word. LOL (but at least this was 10 pages and done in less than a month!) 

Mmc1118: Dreamin' right there with ya. 

Kittyfantastico: Ha, I'm so glad the British swearing sounded all right to you! Your words are so cuuute! Teehee. 

Ilovemypenguin: I love Cole. Very hard to write, but very fun. And no, Lauren wasn't talking to Sark at the end of the last chapter. ;) 

Delordra: I love writing Irina, too. Don't get to do so that often, so I enjoy her when I can. She's such a fascinating character to try and tackle… layers upon layers. Every action, every thought, every word is weighed with about 10 different consequences, and she not only knows what they are, she knows how to countermand them. Words cannot describe how much she's adored. 

**Can I just say, again, how much my readers rule? I love you!**


	56. Like Cases

**_Chapter Fifty Four - Like Cases_**

"This was not anticipated." 

Lounging at home, relaxing in his dress pants and a v-neck white undershirt, Jack didn't even turn. "Was it?" he questioned, the hint of an unreadable smile on his face. 

In response, she fully stepped into the room. Her powerful presence seemingly dimmed the already muted lights. 

"You know what I am going to ask," Jack said, finally deigning to rest his eyes on her. 

She crossed her arms against her chest, studying him with frank curiosity. It was as though she had never been asked a favor before, and wanted to memorize every detail of such an oddity. 

Jack waited patiently. 

"You wish to know what my sister is concocting," she answered upon finishing her scrutiny. 

He inclined his head in an abbreviated salute. 

"I fail to see my gainings in this endeavor," she dismissed. "Why would I help you, Jack Bristow?" 

This time, his smile was one of cool triumph. Despite her seeming refusal, the woman's eyes gleamed with undeniable interest. He rose, moving to stand on front of her. 

"Because, Yekaterina," he drawled. "Isn't this what family is for?" 

* * *

"That was not the first time I've been caught," Vaughn told the psychiatrist, the words just spilling out. "I… you've read my file, I'm guessing, you probably know that." 

In response, Judy shifted in her chair, making herself more comfortable to listen to him for as long as he wanted to talk. 

"And I put myself in that situation, this time," he continued. "I, uh - " he tried to pull himself up a little, not enjoying conversing while flat on his back. But his body was stiff from Sloane's encouraged nap, and he couldn't help a wince. 

"Might not be a good idea," Barnett mused, staying nonjudgmental. He sighed but forced himself to relax. 

"Yeah," he sighed. "Um, anyway… I mean, I didn't know exactly what would happen, but I wasn't anticipating returning to Sloane to be pleasant." 

She nodded again, inwardly pleased at his willingness to talk to her. Very good sign, that. Worth a test. Vaughn, still determined to assert himself, took advantage of the break in conversation to carefully lift the water bottle from the nighttable by his bedside and take a drink. He couldn't help feelings of quiet pride as he did so. His strength was growing. 

"Michael, I'm going to ask you three questions, but I don't want you to answer them right away, all right?" Barnett reached over, helping him return the water bottle to the table once more with her free hand. Whatever strength he had depleted quickly, dissipating as though he had never had it. 

He paused, confused. That seemed to be his perpetual state of emotion these days. "All right," he answered. 

She let go of his hand, deliberately changing from concerned confidant to professional colleague. Vaughn straightened unconsciously in reaction. 

"The first is, do you blame yourself for what happened to you?" she inquired. 

He cocked his head, mouth opening in automatic denial… before closing it wordlessly. Was that because he remembered he wasn't supposed to answer or another, more serious reason? 

"The second?" he asked, voice and eyes neutral. 

"Did he break you?" she asked. "Did he win? I'm not talking about an overwhelming moment. You didn't even have to say anything to him. But was there a time, however brief while you were tortured, that you gave in? That you would have done or said anything to make the pain go away?" 

He closed his eyes and looked away, hands clenching into fists. 

"Last one," Barnett continued, forcing herself to pronounce the words. "_If_ Agent Bristow and your mother had been taken with you and Sloane - or whoever tortured you - actually hurt one of them instead and forced you to choose and watch, who would you have chosen?" 

His head snapped back to her, green eyes wide with horror and disbelief. "What?" 

Unnoticed by both of them, Amélie lodged herself just outside the door. 

"You heard me, Michael," Barnett said quietly. "Who would you have allowed Sloane to torture? Sydney? She's a strong woman. She could probably have handled it. But she's also the woman you love, even the lowest Agency clerk knows that. So would have you have chosen your mother then?" 

His breath caught at the thought. "Stop - " 

"By then she would have known your secret," Barnett continued, sensing that she had found a trigger point. "She would have learned it in the worst way possible. Would she have condemned you for that? Would you choose to have your mother tortured to silence her resentment?" 

Tears filled his eyes again as he shook his head in helpless denial. Every inch of him wanted nothing more than to flee from both her and her questions, but he didn't even have the strength to sit up at the minute. She had him trapped. 

In the hallway, Amélie covered her mouth, nearly bent over in horror. 

"Their favorite method was lashing you with a strap," Barnett mused out loud. "Can you picture watching them hit - " 

"Stop," he interrupted. Or perhaps pleaded, he honestly didn't notice. His breathing sped up almost as dramatically as his heart rate, the beeping acting as a crescendo to his breaking point. His body shook uncontrollably. 

Other victims of PTSD had the luxury of time. Despite her earlier words, the only way Vaughn would find the same privilege was by retiring and even then, it was doubtful the Agency would leave him be. Such was the cost of life in Intelligence. 

"'Picture' is the wrong word," she said, all but choking the words out. "Can you _hear_ - " 

"Stop!" he exploded, turning away from her again and curling up into a ball as much as he could to shield himself. Why was she doing this? 

Barnett bowed her head. That was enough. "Agent Vaughn," she murmured to him. Very, very gently, she reached over and rested a hand on his trembling shoulder. His breath hitched and caught, the flight/fight/freeze impulses of PTSD canceling each other out. Try as he might, he couldn't breathe. Green eyes wide with alarm, he struggled desperately. 

But it was just too much. The imagery invaded his brain even as oxygen left it. The tube in his nose was only light help, after all, and part of him didn't care what happened to him as long as the mere thoughts of his mother and Sydney in pain coursing through his mind disappeared. 

Judy shot to her feet, one hand slapping a button to notify David while the other one remained on his shoulder. "Michael, calm down," she urged him softly. "Calm down. It isn't real. You _know_ it isn't real. Let yourself relax." 

But his struggles continued, the bed shaking as he fought both to breathe and not breathe. One hand rested on top of his heart. If it was at all possible, he could _feel_ it splitting apart. Literally. He was also drenched in sweat. 

Groaning, he curled himself up even tighter, ignoring the pain that caused. 

Enough waiting. Amélie bolted into the room. Barnett glanced at her, absently wondering how long she'd been listening, but that was hardly important right now. 

"_Vous allez bien, Michel. Elle va bien. Je suis _très_ bien,"_ Vaughn's mother soothed, bodily moving the American woman aside. ("You are fine, Michael. She is fine. I am _very _fine.") 

Dr. Matthews arrived shortly afterwards, out of breath. "Michael, that's enough. Relax," he ordered Vaughn gruffly, dialing up the IV. "You're not helping yourself, kid." 

The doctor leaned over and took him by the shoulders, forcing him to uncurl and lay flat as he replaced the mask over his nose and mouth. With the oxygen now unavoidable, Vaughn's breathing returned to something resembling normal. But agony continued to course through him and he again doubled over, hand returning to rest over his heart. 

David sighed. Careful to keep his actions out of Vaughn's line of sight, he fed enough of an additional sedative into the IV line to speed things up. Gripping his hand with one of hers, Amélie rested her other hand on his forehead as her son finally stilled. 

"What the hell was that?" Eric Weiss demanded. She jumped, having not even noticed the man. 

"Anxiety attack. These are common," David answered, glancing at Judy. She looked back at him wordlessly, lips compressed into a thin line. "Do you concur, Dr. Barnett?" 

She bristled at the insinuation in his voice. "You help him your way, David, and I'll help him mine." 

He sighed, glancing at a livid Amélie and a very worried Weiss. "I don't want to question your methods, Judy, but I wonder if that was a case of too much, too soon. When I help a patient, I usually don't almost give him a heart attack!" 

Weiss watched them both closely, head swiveling back and forth. 

"No, you drug him into a stupor," she shot back, offended that the other man put such little confidence into her skills. "You can't keep doing that, Dr. Matthews. He needs to face - "

"I know a _little_ about the PTSD monster," David returned dryly. "He hasn't even been officially diagnosed yet. Would you rather I made him stay awake and damage himself further?" 

Judy shook her head. "I'm going back to my office," she acquiesced, knowing she was going to lose no matter what she said. "I'll continue this later." 

"You most certainly will not!" Amélie exclaimed. 

Judy raised her head, her gaze kind as she studied Vaughn's beleaguered mother. "I will," she replied quietly. "I have to." 

And then she left. Amélie wasted no time, appealing to David as he tended to her son. For once, Vaughn hadn't ripped anything open. Weiss leaned against the doorframe, feeling like an intruder but not able to tear himself away. 

"_Médecin_ Matthews, surely you can do something to make sure she doesn't - " 

He held up a finger. _Wait._ Concentrating intently, he leaned over Vaughn and rubbed the butt of his stethoscope out of habit before resting it in place, meticulously comparing what he heard there to what he saw on the monitor. 

"He'll be fine," David muttered, ruffling the kid's hair before he replaced the metal tool around his neck and looked up at her. "And _Madame_, she's right." 

"What? But you just said - " 

"Well, I'm right too," David replied. "But Judy is a pro. Known her for a long time. What she has to do sometimes is brutal, but she _has_ to. It's part of her job." He hesitated, but knew she had to hear it. "And in a case like this, it's Michael's job, too." 

* * *

Julian Sark never failed at anything. 

Granted, his employers of past and present could not boast such perfection. But he, a man following orders, was hardly responsible for that. His record - and reputation - remained utterly flawless. 

Therefore, he had never before experienced the feelings running through his body. There was a knot in his stomach, one so tight that it seemed it had folded in on itself, twice. Another similarly odd sensation desired to root his feet to the floor, making every step almost impossible. 

For the first time in his young life, he had truly, utterly, undeniably failed. 

Sydney Bristow had disappeared. 

* * *

He didn't smile. Didn't greet her. Didn't rise when she entered. Didn't even look at her. Instead, he crossed his arms and stared right over her head. "Well?" 

Lauren bit her tongue. It would do no good to get demoted. "I spoke to the doctor," she began. "He assures me that he is following our instructions. That combined with what I am administering to Agent Vaughn myself will ensure that any statements he gives regarding me or you will be questionable." 

"Excellent," Lindsey approved, finally meeting her eyes. "You cannot be exposed, and Agent Vaughn could do so with just two words. This makes certain his unreliability to any superior." 

She pasted a smile on her face. "Indeed." _Forgive me, Michael._

He rolled his eyes, able to see her unease in the way she crossed her arms over her chest. "I promise you, Lauren, that the precious agent under your obvious fancy - isn't that how you would say it? - will not suffer any major effects. If anything, American protocol dictates he'll be handled with kid gloves. There's no need for guilt." 

She forced herself to dangle her arms at her sides, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I know," she ground out, casting her eyes to the floor. "And I know you're only arranging this to help me. Thank you." 

Only then did he rise. Lauren stiffened, fighting back disgust as the NSC Director stepped over to her and grasped her chin in his hand, lifting her head up to face him. 

"And don't you forget it," he hissed, leaning so close their noses touched. "I can just as easily turn things around, hmm?" 

With a snort of amusement he released her, stepping past decisively and leaving her alone. 

_You'll pay for that_, she vowed. She'd tear the man apart herself if she had to. She took a moment, squaring her shoulders and steadying her breathing, before turning and leaving the room as well. 

* * *

"Will!" 

He raised his head at Elsa's whispered summons, surprised out of his ponderings. 

Not wanting to to interfere, Will had leaned against the doorframe, staying well out of the way of both the family inside, and the guards keeping a protective watch. 

But both parents beckoned him forward, removing some of their precious attention from the son and focusing on him. He could hardly refuse after such a gesture. 

"Hey," he greeted awkwardly. Elsa responded with a warm, understanding smile. Neil, not as familiar with the other man, still mustered up a slight nod in response. 

"Mr. Will!" 

Startled, his blue eyes flashed to the bed. Aaron giggled, trying to sit up, though his father immediately rested a hand on the boy's stomach and pressed him back down. 

"Chill there, buster," Neil drawled. 

Color flooded back into the Aaron's cheeks, the brief time of stasis relinquishing its hold on the youngster. 

"You gave us all a scare," Elsa added, scolding lightly. She reached over, covering his tiny hand with her own. 

Aaron scowled. The room hummed in tandem with his returning energy. 

"It wasn't my fault!" the boy protested. 

And there it was. Will jerked as if physically struck, shame clogging his sinuses. 

"It was a big 'bider!" Aaron concluded, unknowingly absolving 'Mr. Will's' misplaced guilt. 

* * *

"I was about your age when I was diagnosed with PTSD." 

Vaughn woke slowly. His tongue felt like a solid mass of cloth, and the rest of him was hardly any better. He didn't have the strength to blink, let alone turn his head towards the speaker. 

"I was a hotshot agent then, and was often paired with people that were my polar opposites as a result. Didn't work all the time, and I have the scars to prove it. But even when I got nabbed, I could shrug it off. Just doing my duty, you know? And I was always pulled out anyway." 

Gentle hands removed the oxygen mask and the water bottle was held to his lips. Vaughn started, but drank greedily. 

"But then I accepted a mission with a fellow agent that I had always admired. Easy enough. Except it wasn't. We got caught, and I can still hear him screaming. _Every_ night. He died right in front of me, and the only thing I could do was watch." 

David pulled the water away and replaced Vaughn's oxygen mask, sinking back down into the chair beside his bed. Vaughn shook his head, hands playing lightly at the blankets as he worked to awaken fully. His eyes felt like they were glued shut. 

"He had a family. I didn't have that. Still don't, in fact. And I would _beg_ her to take me instead of him because of that. But she never listened. She seemed to take pleasure in that, if at all possible. And he wouldn't have let her take me even if she agreed. That wasn't the kind of man he was." 

David ran a hand through his hair, exhausted. 

"The first step is denial," he continued. "Mine was supplemented with alcohol. But the last step, kid - the last step is acceptance. It took me almost a decade to forgive myself for his death. There was nothing I could have done, as much as it angered me to realize that. And once that was done, it took me another five years to move on." 

Someone coughed discreetly at the door. David looked up, relaxing again when he recognized Jack. Vaughn managed to force his eyes open just in time to see the two of them exchange glances of familiarity. Whatever the doctor was talking about, Jack knew about it. 

"When Jack told me about you, I couldn't stay away. I may have acknowledged PTSD as part of my existence, but it would be rather silly to purposely mesh with people that went through experiences similar to mine. But he was very insistent that you get the best. That would be me, of course." 

Vaughn raised an eyebrow of surprise at _that_. Jack gazed back at him unreadably. 

"And that's the end of story hour," David said, amused in spite of himself at those two. "Get some rest. I'll be back later." 

He rose, shedding weight in the process. It was almost as though long-existent chains crashed to the floor when he stood. 

"Wait," Vaughn stammered, voice as uneven as a boy enduring puberty. He was weak, but he wasn't an idiot. David's story - 

"He had a family?" 

David paused in midstep, not trusting himself to turn around. Jack remained silent. 

"A wife and a son." 

And then the two older men were gone, leaving Vaughn alone. 

**– to be continued -**

No feedback responses this time, sorry! I have a huuuge midterm tomorrow, so I wanted to hurry and post this for y'all first. Wish me luck, and thanks so much for your kind and helpful words! 


	57. Strands of Brown Gold

**_Chapter Fifty Five - Strands of Brown Gold_**

_"You don't have to go through with this! Just tell her!" _

"And then what kind of man would I be?" 

"One that's alive?" 

"Sometimes, David, living is not as important." 

"As what? Dying for a - " 

"Just remember that." 

* * *

"You once told me I was being ridiculous." 

David sank down into a chair, but not out of choice. All energy fled his body, and he almost fell onto the aged black leather. 

"Sounds like something I'd say," he agreed, though there was no levity in his tone. 

Jack leaned against the desk, facing his old friend with his arms crossed. His hint went ignored. 

David shook his head, blinking rapidly as dust irritated his eyes. "I didn't mean to tell him all that," he muttered. 

Jack nodded, falling silent. 

"In fact, I'm pretty sure I wasn't cleared to tell him that." 

Jack nodded again. 

"And that might be an issue with Ben, I think. Me saying things I'm not allowed to say. Maybe he'll force me to retire again." 

And then David stopped, his eyes all but bugging out. 

Jack pursed his lips. "I've always wondered if that was what occurred." 

David smirked a little to himself, coming out of the fog that had previously consumed his mind. "What were they supposed to do? I was a mental case. I couldn't exactly stay field-rated after I came back." 

He sighed a little, wry amusement at himself disappearing. "And now Bill's kid is gonna get to experience that hell firsthand. The hell of knowing you're no longer wanted. You know as well as I do that his career is over. They'll shake his hand, thank him for his service with a pension that pays for _nothing_, and then force him to see shrink after shrink until he's learned to live with himself or funding dries up, so it looks pretty on internal auditing." 

For a moment, the two men fell silent, both very aware that others in the Rotunda were listening. 

"Probably," Jack agreed at last. 

David raised his head, incredulous. "'Probably'?" he echoed. "That's all you have to say? The kid's life is over, and you're standing there like you don't care?" He snorted. "Don't lie to me, Jack. One thing you get good at, seeing as many shrinks as I did? Reading people." 

* * *

"The next 36 hours are crucial to the coming event," Sloane instructed, hands folded in front of him. He and Irina exchanged a united glance, nodding in unison, before he grudgingly turned his attention to Cole. 

"There can be no surprises," he stressed. 

But the renegade slouched low in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, studying the pipes on the ceiling of the room in the vast, unused water filtering plant they were hiding in. "You have a leak, you know," he mused. 

Sloane glared. Smirking, Cole allowed the legs of his chair to slam back down on the floor with a dull thud. "Chill out, Arvin," he advised. "I'm in this for the long haul." 

* * *

Vaughn lay alone in his room, eyes fluttering against drugged exhaustion almost as often as his mind took twists and turns. 

David had known his father. Had watched him die. Knew details that he had never dared to dream could be available to him. A thrill shot through him. The answer to every question he ever had rested on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the doctor to return. 

And then a harsh, grating voice interrupted his thoughts. 

"Do you remember me, Agent Vaughn?" 

Vaughn squinted, trying to focus on him. _Why won't everyone just let me sleep?_

"Lindsey, sir?" 

The other man nodded, leaning in much too close to him. Vaughn stiffened. The NSC Director simply radiated a feeling of corruptedness. 

"We need to talk." 

"Sir?" Vaughn forced himself to remain calm. 

"It's about my Agent Reed," Lindsey said, pulling a thin black remote from his pocket and depressing the button. It beeped. Vaughn cocked his head, puzzled. 

"I've looped the camera feed," Lindsey informed him. "Listen up, Agent Vaughn. You and I both know that she is a far cry from a patriot." 

Vaughn nodded, forehead burrowing warily. Was he here to follow-up with Kendall's very odd order of silence? 

"You would be unwise to spread that information," the NSC Director warned, speaking slowly to ensure that the agent heard every word. 

"Are you threatening me?" Vaughn breathed, eyes wide with disbelief. 

In response, Lindsey rose and fiddled absently with the tube connected to Vaughn's IV. 

"I _could_ claim that Reed is on a special assignment, but you're a smart young man, Mr. Vaughn. So I'll say this." 

Vaughn waited, jaw clenched and green eyes aflame with wordless anger. 

"I'm not threatening _you_," Lindsey drawled, turning the painkiller down a setting. Vaughn swallowed hard, gritting his teeth as some of the drug's precious numbness effect went away. 

"Because let's face it," the man continued, smirking at Vaughn's reaction. "All of us in this life are accustomed to receiving threats. They become incentives to us, little golden rings we prize above all else." 

"If you have something to say," Vaughn ground out, "say it." 

He laughed. The IV went down another level. 

"I've said it, Mr. Vaughn," he mocked, watching as the injured man fought to not show his pain. "I'm not threatening _you_. It's much more successful to do so to someone _not_ in the Intelligence business." 

Vaughn tensed. Surely the director wouldn't go so far as to… 

"Your mother is a beautiful woman," Lindsey said, voice utterly neutral. "Strong as well." 

For a moment, Vaughn couldn't respond, stunned by the other man's audacity. "Touch her," he growled when speech returned to him, rage invading his very soul, "and I'll do more than just kill you." 

Lindsey smiled at him, restoring the IV to its previous setting and disabling the camera loop. 

"Golden ring noted," he smirked. " I do hope that my comments are noted as well." 

And then he left. 

* * *

"Of course, McKenas," Sloane responded, still holding the other man's gaze with his own. "I never doubted it." 

His phone rang. Sloane reached for it without breaking his stare, waiting until Cole ceded to him and looked away. 

"Yes?" he answered. 

_"Sir,_" his younger associate said, accent brittle. _"We may have a problem._" 

* * *

Vaughn had learned quite a bit on arguments while growing up. 

His parents had loved each other, deeply. But the stress of William's career choice had often weighed heavily on their minds. They had tried to never fight in front of their son, but they _had_ fought. 

And just as he did then, Vaughn lay stiff in his bed, eyes unblinking as his mind worked, trying to find a solution by exploring every possible angle of the problem. Even if he couldn't solve it, it was better than not trying at all. 

Why would Kendall order his silence, but not inform his fellow directors? Why would Lindsey go so far as to threaten his mother, to _ensure_ his silence? What exactly was Lauren Reed truly doing? Was it related to the alliance between Jack and Irina? What about Lauren's brother, Cole? And why would Jack ask him to lie about Sark? Why would Sloane risk a visit to him? And where on earth was Sydney? Did she know Sloane knew what she was doing? 

A light knocking broke through his reverie. Vaughn started, turning his head automatically to see an awkward-looking Weiss standing in the doorframe. 

"Hey!" he brightened. 

"Hey, Mike," Weiss greeted him, not budging. 

Vaughn waited, puzzled at the other man's uncharacteristic shyness. "Would you uh, like to come in?" 

Weiss swallowed hard, Barnett's tips running through his mind. _Stay relaxed. Stay normal. If anything, _anything, _seems the slightest bit off about him, keep him talking and press the call button. It's okay to laugh and joke around. It'll probably help him more than I ever could. And if he wants to talk, do so. Don't push him, just listen._

Vaughn sighed, compressing his lips into a thin line as he realized his friend's thoughts. "Not you, too," he groaned. 

Eric could've hit himself. He was already failing! "What're you talking about?" he forced himself to ask, sauntering to the chair. 

He shook his head, eyes hardening into sharp-edged emeralds. "Eric, you don't believe them, do you?" 

Well. This was not going well. "Them?" 

Vaughn scowled, looking down at himself. "You do!" 

_Damn it._ "Michael, I've got no idea what you're babbling about," Weiss informed him, making sure he knew exactly where the call button was. "As per usual. Chill out." 

Mike laughed to himself. _Laughed_. "You know, if anyone were to believe me, I would have thought it would be you." 

Weiss sighed, folding his hands in his lap - and promptly unfolding them hastily. 

"They're wrong about me," Vaughn told his friend. "I don't have …" He trailed off, unable to voice it. 

"PTSD?" Eric filled in helpfully. And then he really did smack his forehead. 

Michael smirked. "I knew it." 

"Mike, look - " 

"No," his younger friend snapped. "_You_ look. I'm not denying something is wrong, all right? But I'm not in denial. Barnett, David… they're wrong about me." 

"Are they?" 

"Eric, Sydney is in trouble," Vaughn pleaded, switching topics. "No one will listen to me! Sloane knows what we were doing. He knows neither of us were loyal to him. Do you hear me? I'm the only one that can save her, but I can't do it as long as they're convinced I'm suffering from something I'm not!" 

And then it was Weiss' turn to laugh. Wholeheartedly. "So let me guess, Mike. You want to go back. Again. And then what? Repeat the cycle? Torture, beatings, the whole shindig? Do you _hear_ yourself?" 

Vaughn closed his eyes briefly, knowing his one chance was rapidly fading away. "Eric - " 

"You're my best friend," Weiss interrupted. "No matter how much ribbing I'll take from the camera guys later for saying that. And when I thought you were going to die, I was not a happy person." 

"Eric - " 

"No!" he roared, hating himself for it. "The answer, Michael, is no. You need to chill out and recover and _face reality_! I'll block this door myself!" 

Silence. 

"Look," Weiss muttered, while his friend stared at him stonily. "I know you're worried. But Sydney isn't exactly a damsel that needs saving, Michael. And you - " 

"Yes, me," he interrupted, voice ice-cold. "Everyone here is so eager to pass judgments on the state of my head. And when all of you say something, it's acceptable. But when _I_ say something, it's denial? Do _you_ hear _yourself_?" 

"Mike, I never said - " 

His stare turned from stony to incredulous. "Eric, give me a little credit. I watched you when you first came in. You looked like you were looking at a complete stranger!" 

"All right, calm down," Eric interrupted, watching Vaughn's heart rate skyrocket nervously. 

That was what did it. 

"Get out," Mike ordered him. "Come back when _you_ face reality." 

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. "You don't mean that." 

His friend responded by struggling to pull himself upright, ignoring the pull on his back. 

"Michael! The hell are you - ?" 

"Get out or I will," Vaughn snapped, sitting up straight for the first time in days. "Since you and everyone else can't seem to realize that Sydney will not be returning without my help, the least you could do is spend _every_ waking moment working on ways to prove me wrong!" 

Weiss shifted his feet, studying the floor for a moment as he steeled himself to meet his friend's intense gaze. He tried a smile. 

"Mike, you act like I'll even _think _about sleep until you two are earning Jack's wrath again. You couldn't be any more mistaken, all right?" 

But his friend waited, gaze not softening in the least. 

Weiss ran a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted, before returning to Vaughn's side and easing him back down. Mike didn't fight him. 

"You have my word you're wrong," Eric told him. "In fact, I'm going to tell her how wrong you are when she gets back. You'll _never_ live it down. We'll make sure that you know how superior I am when we're all old and gray and you're senile." 

Only then did Michael shake his head against the pillows, his lips turning upward with the slightest of subtlety. "Never thought I'd say this, but you'd better be right about that." 

His pager went off. Weiss jumped a mile. 

"Asshat," he mumbled, lifting up his suit coat to look down at his belt. Vaughn eyed him blankly. 

"Lindsey wants to talk to me," Weiss explained, amused when Vaughn immediately made the connection between the two names and nodded in agreement. "Time to go show him how right I always am. It's a warmup." 

"Better be," Vaughn called after him. 

"Damn straight," Weiss mumbled under his breath as he left the room. He all but crashed into a listening Barnett. 

* * *

Irina watched Sloane closely. Something was wrong, and Sydney's mother had no doubt that 'something' was her daughter. 

Carefully hiding her pride, she leaned over to listen - and froze in place as the cold end of a gun suddenly rested against her throat. 

* * *

"Hi," he said in surprise, closing Mike's door behind him out of protective habit. 

"Hello," she replied, gently taking his arm and moving him out of her way. 

"Maybe I should stay for this," Weiss said warily, eyeing his pager. Would Lindsey mind if he was, say, an hour late? Possibly two? 

But Judy shook her head. "These sessions are private," she reminded him. At his concerned glance, she sighed. "Last time was an anomaly," she reassured him. "It won't happen again." 

Weiss scowled. He hated to leave, but a guy that played golf with the president was not someone to ignore. "All right," he agreed unhappily. "But have you seen Amélie?" 

"I believe she's visiting the Caplans," Judy answered. _That's why I picked this time to have a session._ "Go, Agent Weiss. It'll be fine." 

With one final glance at Vaughn's door, he left. Taking a deep breath, Judy opened Vaughn's door. She approached him with more than a little trepidation. After all, the last time they'd talked she'd single-handedly caused him to suffer an anxiety attack. It was necessary, it hadn't been malevolent, but she had still caused him more pain. He couldn't need anything less. 

He was alone when she arrived, doubtlessly something arranged by David. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady enough to show that he was awake… 

Judy sank into the chair by his bed, crossing her legs and folding her arms in her lap. For a moment, no one said anything. She waited, content to let him have the first words. 

"You asked me some questions," he said after a moment, and his voice was strong and proud. "I'd like to answer them." 

She nodded, watching as he opened vivid green eyes and turned his head to face her. "All right." 

He paused, line of sight just over her head. "You asked me if I blamed myself for the tor - for what happened to me," he began. 

"I did," she agreed. 

His mouth bunched at the sides. "Strictly speaking, the answer is yes. I do." 

Barnett raised an eyebrow, inwardly thrilled that he could talk to her so easily. "Oh?" she inquired. 

He lost his nerve then, glancing down to play with a loose strand of yarn from one of his warm blankets. "I killed that man's brother," he murmured. "I didn't _have_ to. I probably could have knocked him out. But I killed him, and some part of me _enjoyed_ it." 

"Why?" 

"Because, I…" he trailed off. Barnett sighed, her hope fading. He was fighting with himself, but he hadn't won yet. 

"I'll stay here for as long as you want," she told him. "Take your time." 

He nodded, winding the yarn around his fingers. "I, um… I…" _Come on, Mike_, he lectured himself. _This isn't brain surgery._

"Michael?" 

He looked at her again, startled out of his thoughts. "No one calls me that," he blurted. 

She raised an eyebrow, going with him patiently. It was a topic he was clearly comfortable with. "Why so, do you think?" 

It was like navigating a maze, she decided. PTSD was of course a challenge no matter the age or circumstances in which it was contracted, but even more so for anyone in Intelligence. Vaughn had been trained to compartmentalize his emotions away, to hide them so they could never be used against him. 

Which meant forcing him to face himself and acknowledge his condition was not only difficult, but went against everything he had become. 

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I mean, Eric does. But I think he's the only one, except for you." 

"And Dr. Matthews?" 

"No," Vaughn said, smiling a little, oblivious to her analyzations. "He calls me 'kid'." 

To successfully break _through_ to him, she had to _break_ him. It would be horrible and traumatic and cruel, beyond doubt. Mainly because the man's guard was so extremely high that any less action on her part would be met with failure. 

"Sounds like him," Judy chuckled agreeably, watching as the yarn loops grew in size. "What about Sydney?" 

Silence for a moment. She waited, on the edge of her seat. His walls were up so ridiculously high… but both sides, good and bad, knew the weakness he had for the youngest Bristow. Her name was the trigger to both his greatest fears and highest joys. 

And sure enough, his eyes widened. The reflexive protection his mind had done to itself by changing the conversation topic backfired. "Sydney?" 

Bingo. Judy hid her smile. His love for her was so strong that the mere mention of her name was enough to refocus him. The course inside the maze of his thoughts righted itself. 

"Is she why you killed that guard?" Judy asked him. Things like this were hard to judge, but it seemed to be back on track. "Did he threaten her?" 

"What? No," he replied instantly. "No, no. He was going to kill me." 

"So it was self-defense then?" Barnett inquired. 

His eyes clouded. "I suppose. Emily let me go. I wasn't expecting that, I… I had said my goodbyes, and I thought - " 

"Your goodbyes?" 

He looked at her. _Really_ looked at her. For just a moment, she saw again the cocky operative that had sat across from her before violating protocol set forth by the Constitution of the United States and breaking into SD-6. 

"Don't you have a file on me? I was debriefed, and I'm sure Sydney was as well…" 

"If it has pertinence to your answer, I'd like for you to tell me," she urged him. 

He looked blank. "My answer?" 

"To my question?" she prodded gently. The maze took another twist. 

"Oh," he stammered, mind processing quickly as he fought to remember. 

"I asked you if you blamed yourself for the _torture_ you endured," she reminded him, using that word deliberately. He had stumbled over it when the conversation first began. "And you said yes, you did." 

He nodded. A second strand of yarn unraveled. 

"The guard that… the guard that…" he couldn't say it. Determined to finish this, he switched tactics. "The guard I killed… his name was Ricardo. The other one, the one that…" 

"That tortured you," Barnett repeated, mentally noting the way he recoiled from that word. 

"Yes," he said. "His name was Diego. He looked older, Ricardo was probably his little brother." 

"Did you kill Diego?" 

"No," he answered quietly. "I couldn't. I'd already taken his little brother from him. I shot him, but only so that we - Eric and I - could get away. He was alive when we left." 

A third strand unraveled. Judy sighed, unfolding her hands and resting one on top of his, stilling his fidgeting. 

"Why do you think your _torture_ was your fault?" she inquired. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with her. "I didn't mean that. But it may have been justified." 

"And if he had killed you, would he have been justified?" 

He hesitated, not knowing how to answer. Judy braced herself. 

"You know what I'm going to say," she whispered, knowing speaking quieter would cause him to actually resist not listening to her. 

He nodded. 

"Then I'll say it," she plowed on, voice still soft enough that he had to lean over to hear her. "On your logic, he would have been perfectly in his rights to kill you instead of torturing you. Yes?" 

"I guess," he stuttered. 

"Because you killed his little brother." 

He nodded again. 

"Because you took someone he valued." 

Tears filled his eyes, but they didn't fall. He didn't fall. 

"So on your logic, Diego would have been justified in hurting someone _you_ valued." 

His eyes widened, tears spilling unavoidably as a result. _Fitting, that_, Barnett decided. His weakness wasn't himself, but his loved ones. 

"What?" he asked, breathing speeding up once more. She hid her frustration carefully, knowing she'd make no further progress today. 

"Someone like Sydney?" 

And there it was. Under her hand, his clenched into fists. "No," he choked. "That's not what I - " 

"But it is, Michael. That's exactly what you just said." 

"I - " he floundered. The beeps on his heart monitor quickened dramatically. 

Weary, she tightened her grip on his hands, compassion in her eyes. "That's enough," she told him, though she hated to end on such a note. "I think David might give _me_ an IV if you have another attack." 

He tried to smile at that, but it felt as though every emotion he had ever felt and could ever feel was rioting inside his head, fighting for control. 

"The purpose of my questions was not to make you doubt yourself, or work yourself up over answering them," she informed him, breaking into his thoughts. "I want to get you thinking about things, possibly in ways that you haven't. All right?" 

He cast his eyes away, but nodded. 

"We'll try the next question another day," she soothed, squeezing his hands before releasing him. "Whenever you decide you want to. All right?" 

"Yeah," he muttered. "Dr. Barnett?" he asked quickly as she rose. 

She sank back down, waiting. 

"Has there been any news on Sydney?" he hated himself for showing how desperately he wanted to know, but he'd gladly do much more than that for information. 

But she shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of," she answered carefully. "But I'll do my best to find out in time for our next talk." 

"Thank you," he sighed, suddenly tired again. Just talking took a lot out of him. 

She stood again, reaching over to touch his shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow," she told him. "Get some rest." 

Utterly drained, he was asleep before she crossed the threshold. 

* * *

"I'm very disappointed," the new voice hissed. "Have you learned nothing?" 

Irina stretched, the moves careless. The gun digging into her skin remained, until she abruptly twisted in the chair, springing up like a cat, both hands coming up to encircle the barrel. Sloane and Cole watched in fascination as she whirled, wrenching the gun out of her assailants' grip and spinning the aim around. But the newcomer easily guessed her movements and pulled out an old-fashioned dagger. 

And then their adrenaline faded, and both women fully focused on one another - Irina aiming the gun at her visitor's heart, while she pressed a knife against Irina's chin. 

"_Nrevyet_, _sestra,_" Katya greeted, eyes dancing with amusement. ("Hello, sister.") 

* * *

Vaughn was dreaming again. He knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, even if this dream was much different than any others. 

He lay on his bed in Medical Services, covered snugly with blankets, body monitored closely with sensors and cameras, breathing once again with the light aid of an oxygen tube in his nose and down his throat. The IV needle in his right arm radiated numbness, something that coursed through the rest of him with the gentleness of ocean waves. 

Just like things actually were. With one exception. 

Sydney stood by him, holding his hand, stroking his hair and watching him breathe. Her face was a mixture of love, relief and contentment as she smiled through tears of joy at the sight of him. Injured but recovering. Wounded but strong. 

And she was beautiful. Lord, she was beautiful. Like the first flower in a barren meadow, or a rainbow after a foggy day, she illuminated his dream in ways that the brightest artificial light never could. He tried to open his mouth, tried to tell her that, but she held her finger to his lips and handed him a dimpled smile. 

"Shhhh," she teased, grinning even wider as he looked back at her. 

He smiled back. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace. 

She leaned over the cot, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "I miss you," she whispered to him. He closed his eyes. The scent of her hair, the feel of her deceptively small frame, the way her nose lightly tickled him as she talked… 

She completed him. It was that simple, really. He could never allow himself to rest knowing she was in danger. It may have sounded trite and cliched, but she was who she was. The other half of his heart. Of his _soul_. 

She rose up a little, kissing him on the forehead before returning to lie on his shoulder. His hands encircled her automatically, tangling themselves in the silky strands of her hair. 

"Fight this, Vaughn," she murmured to him, speaking against his body. It was almost as though she was talking directly _through_ him, urging his mind to reawaken. 

"I will," he swore, voice softer than hers. She laughed, the sound washing over him in soothing rays of shining light. 

"You'd better," she teased. 

She looked away suddenly, over her shoulder. He frowned, bewildered and guarded. Why would she worry about something unseen? In dreams, nothing mattered but them. Especially _this_ dream. Unless, of course, it was about to change again… 

But then she was back, kissing his lips, his face, his neck, his ears… with utterly wild, desperate abandon. 

"I'm sorry," she choked, "but that's all the time I have. I have to go." 

"But - " he shook his head, confused. _Go?_ He decided when he woke up, not her! 

She smiled down at him, carefully pulling herself and her hair free from his hold. "We'll see each other soon," she whispered to him. 

And then she was gone. The light she brought to the room faded. All returned to normal. 

And Vaughn awoke with a gasp. His hands grasped at the blankets, disoriented. He turned his head, half-expecting to see his mother. 

But the room, save for himself, was empty. He glanced around, wondering at the unusualness of that. His eyes caught notice of the camera that overlooked him, the flashing red light always serving as a reminder that he was safe. 

Until now. He squinted, looked again. The camera was off. 

More than a little puzzled, he brought his hands up to rub his eyes, certain he just wasn't seeing it. 

Only then did he notice the two strands of silken brunette hair curled inbetween his fingers. 

**- to be continued -**

_Up Next_: Syd and Lauren meet. Oh, and Syd's pissed. Mwahahaha. 

So many new readers! My apologies to your rear, and welcome to _Presages_! ;) 

* * *

**Commercial break**

I recently did something I've always wanted to do: made myself a fic archive! It's called Words of Whimsy, and you can see it at . Of note are two long previews from my upcoming Alias novels, _Double-Sided Karma_ and _Return to Truth_, that will only be found on that site! 

Also, if you or someone you know has been plagiarized, get the help you need at The OPR (The Office of Plagiaristic Research)! The idea was conceived by Celeste (author of _Rainy L.A. Days_ and _Snowy Boston Nights_), and developed by myself of two of her friends, Ames and Sakura. 

**End break!**

* * *

Review Responses

Alicarter: Vaughn is definitely my favorite character, too. I always root for the 'hero', and he is. Jack is the gray character, and Sark is the villain, but Vaughn has always been the white knight. That and he's cute. (Hot-cute, of course!) 

Meghan: Ta-da, there's a reunion! ;) 

Teaser: "I'm not asking to lead it," he said at length, folding his hands on top of his blankets and sitting up straight. "But I want to go to Spain." 

Apryl: I'm hurrying, I swear! lol 

Mgterps: Well, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! But it was 12 pages, so hopefully length makes up for the wait! 

Brittany: If you're a member of FF.net, you can sign up for Author Alerts which will tell ya when I update. :) I also have a mailing list - the link is in my profile. 

Britty: Well, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! :) 

Ginnie: You know, just when I think I'm done, my muse says, "Wait! Here's another plotline!" lol. Dang thing. ;) 

Amazed: Awww, thanks! Hope you slept and didn't wait up for an update! Hee. 

UndercoverElfHM: Everyone knows Alias isn't complete without the F150! 

Sugarqube: Oh dear! May I get you a pillow? lol 

Gator-Girl: Thank you muchly! 

Irina's Cellmate: Like I said, Irina is so hard to write. I'm always very nervous. lol. I had to let Syd be on the backburner for a bit to get the reunion to work, but she'll be back with all guns blazing from here on out. 

Ilovemypenguin: I got an A! Woohoo! 

valley-girl2: Well, if it helps, I think Vaughny has as many questions as you. ;) Oh, and Sydney reappeared! 

Kay10197: As always, thanks! lol 

Rachel: What will Katya tell Jack? That she thinks he's cute, of course. 

Raina: An _excellent_ question. 

Kittyfantastico: Geez, poor Vaughn. I'm a little worried about him. Nervous breakdowns are bad! 


	58. Facts Unburied

**_Chapter Fifty Six - Facts Unburied_**

She was late. And if she was spotted because she was late, the charade would be over and the Agency would fail to capture the weapon. Millions of people would die. And that horrified her. 

But not enough to turn her around. 

Sydney moved quietly down the corridor of Operations, ears intent for any noise. The route was familiar, of course; she had walked it when released from observation when doctors thought she and Vaughn could be dying. A shortcut led up to the main floor… 

Bingo. 

Sydney stood in the shadows, hands clenched into fists as growing anger engulfed her. Lauren Reed sat at a spare desk off to the side of the Rotunda, pouring over a file, her blonde hair glowing from the soft light. For once the rest of the floor was empty. Even Intelligence members needed sleep, and Agency headquarters downtown could monitor things for a few hours. It was why she had risked a visit to Vaughn. 

_Vaughn…_ she closed her eyes for a moment. He'd looked so helpless, but the way he had lit up at her presence… it was awe-inspiring. It was humbling. It was almost as beautiful as he was. He loved her so much that her mere presence, even if he thought she was a drug-induced dream, was enough for him to drop his guard and treat her as the most beautiful and treasured woman in the world. 

She didn't deserve such worship, she knew. He did, of course. But not her. 

Sydney shook her head forcibly. She couldn't afford to be distracted right now. Which is why she abandoned caution entirely, stormed up to Lauren and grasped her by the hair. With casual strength, Sydney flipped her around and slammed the other woman back against the desk. _Hard._

"He trusted you," she spat out. "_I_ trusted you!" 

"Sydney," Lauren gasped, astonished. The force of impact had knocked the wind out of her. "Agent Bristow, what - " 

Sydney only gripped the blonde harder around her throat, eyes glaring infernos of blistering rage. 

"I know what you're doing to him," she whispered, her anger so sharp it burned her throat. Her voice was almost guttural. "How could you? How _could_ you?" 

"Sydn - " Lauren choked out. She batted weakly at her attacker's hand. "Let… explain!" 

And then Sydney's earpiece clicked. "_Your little show of strength set off action sensors," _Sark drawled in her ear, apparently having found her note to him. _"You need to leave, Agent Bristow._" 

Lauren closed her bulging eyes, sagging. Her arm flopped to her side. Reluctantly, Sydney eased her grip. 

"I never intended to hurt him," the younger woman wheezed desperately the moment she was allowed to draw in air. "I _swear_ to you. Ask the doctor!" 

Her words spilled out quickly, knowing Sydney's rationality was possibly short-lived. 

"Ask him what?" Jack and Irina's daughter asked, with mock-innocent curiosity. 

"He gave him something - " 

Sydney's eyes narrowed dangerously. 

" - that countermanded what Lindsey _forced_ me to give him. David knew from the beginning what I was doing, Agent Bristow. I would never - " 

Sydney rolled her eyes, grimacing in resignation. Sark again called her name in her earpiece. "Listen to me," she hissed, leaning in close. "If it comes to it… I can't keep him safe right now. I know you can. You've proven that. But if you harm one more hair on his head, _for whatever reason,_ I will personally see to it that you pay." 

Lauren didn't answer, panting for breath. 

"What you're doing will stop now. Or I'll make sure you get the same experience. Am I clear?" 

She shook the British woman a little. 

"Yes," Lauren managed to choke out. 

_"Ms. Bristow?"_ Sark inquired.

"If I find any additional injuries on him when I come back, those will be _your_ fault," Sydney growled, releasing her. "If he has one _scratch_, I'll give you two." 

Lauren nodded mutely. 

"Remember that," she threatened one final time. 

And then she turned on her heel, fleeing back into the darkness.

* * *

If there was such a thing as a human-friendly cocoon, this was it, Will decided. 

He sat on the neatly-made bed Vaughn had vacated, just watching the three Caplans at play. Aaron had woken up abruptly, crying out half-remembered memories of narrow hallways and harsh voices as the spider venom took its time to fully leave his bloodstream. 

And though all three of them had immediately rushed into the room, there was no urgency in Elsa and Neil's movements now. They moved conspiratively through every nook and cranny of the small hospital room, noisily shooing away any boogeymen that were trying to steal little Aaron's happy dreams. Under the bed, in the storage closet, by the window, under Mr. Will's shoes… 

And Will lounged back and watched, feeling more relaxed than he had since Sydney's secret had exploded into his life.

* * *

He was waiting for her as she jogged toward him, brown hair flowing behind her, body enshrouded in black. 

Stomach turning, Sydney nevertheless recommitted and climbed into the van, perching herself on the seat behind him. 

"Emily says hello," Sark informed her, removing his earpiece and starting the engine. 

But the van was silent as they drove off.

* * *

"I am disappointed," Katya mused to her little sister, a smirk of amusement on her lush lips as she studied the gun aimed at her heart. "There was a time when you would have detected me before I arrived in the room. Has your time with the American altered your abilities?" 

Irina arched an eyebrow in return, breathing steady against the knife pressed against her throat. "Don't flatter yourself," she assured the new arrival. Holding the revolver easily in a one-handed grip, Irina raised her free hand. Wall panels slid open immediately, their quiet wisp a deceptively mild introduction to the six unsmiling men that stepped out, matching Irina's aim.

* * *

Vaughn couldn't go back to sleep. 

Funny, that. It often seemed as though all he did nowadays was sleep. But tonight, for obvious reasons, he was wide awake. 

_She was right here. She was in this room._

Vaughn raised his hand in the air, studying the brunette strands with all the fascination of a newborn pawing with a mobile toy. The soft light of the hospital room caused the silky pieces of hair to shimmer like the most precious of gems. 

Which she was, of course. 

He brought his hand, the hair curled around his fist, to his mouth, kissing Sydney's souvenir softly. And then Vaughn almost laughed out loud at his foolishness. Usually it took Weiss' company and a great deal of alcohol for him to be so showy with his emotions. 

Speaking of alcohol, he was thirsty. And maybe a drink of his only available beverage - water - would help him settle back down and sleep. The sooner he did that, the sooner he'd eventually be able to leave Medical Services behind. 

For once, he was not afraid of surrendering himself to his dreams, and doing so without a sedative. Sydney had been here. Nothing could touch him. Even in his mind. And besides, grabbing a sip of water was routine for him in his current state. Lauren would bring it to him and help him drink, and then David would knock him out, and he'd wake up the next morning. 

Drenched in sweat, from nightmares he couldn't recall. 

Vaughn's eyes widened, the hair falling softly into the bed as his euphoria faded and his natural sharpness asserted control once more. 

_The water._

His mind raced, recalling every horrible wake-up, every one of his breakdowns while in sessions with Dr. Barnett. Every single moment he had doubted his own sanity, and friends, doctors and superiors had treated him as a man on the brink of losing his mind. 

Every one of those moments had involved _water_. But that would mean - 

Someone knocked at his door. Vaughn turned his head, body tensing immediately. 

Lauren leaned against the doorframe. 

"We need to talk," was all she said.

* * *

For a moment, no one spoke. Even the guards seemed to hold their breaths. 

And then Sloane adjusted his stance in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Irina," he prompted. Cole swiveled in his, clearly stunned at the other man's foolishness in questioning what she was doing. 

But Irina merely handed them both a tight smile of equal parts patience and amusement. With a nod to Katya she lowered the gun, a movement reflexively followed by the elder Derevko with her knife. The guards accepted her unspoken signal and simply disappeared back into where they came from. 

Cole's awe increased tenfold as the two formidable women embraced in a firm hug.

* * *

Now, Vaughn knew, was a time when Eric's overprotectiveness was unbelievably handy. The traitor stepped closer to him, moving to close the door - 

And stopped short as Vaughn withdrew his left arm from the cover of the blankets, careful not to jostle the strands of hair resting on his chest. He aimed his service pistol at her with deadly accuracy, expertly cocking the barrel in his one-handed grip. "Don't move," he warned her, green eyes shooting sparks. 

Lauren nodded, slowly raising her hands to shoulder level. "What now, Agent Vaughn?" she inquired, calmly. 

A good question. Eric had given him back his gun, but his cell phone sat on the night table, just barely out of his reach. _Thanks, Weiss._

"What did you do to me?" he demanded instead, stalling. Could he order her to give him the phone? 

Green eyes locked on green, Lauren reached into her jacket pocket. Vaughn's hand tightened on the trigger, watching her with rapt caution. Tears of shame spilled as she held up a plastic baggie filled with white, salt-like powder. 

"It's a medical cocktail," she murmured, no longer able to look at him. "A mixture of memory and muscle-impairing drugs, with just a light sedative interlaced in with it. It's not fatal, Michael. I swear." 

Well. _That_ was good to know. "Why?" he asked her, confusion genuine. "I trusted you, Lauren!" 

She flinched. Though he didn't know it, his pained question echoed through her, the bruises on her heavily powder-coated throat flaring back to life. 

"Know that I _never_ wanted to hurt you," she told him. "That I did everything possible to ensure this would not affect you long-term." 

He laughed bitterly, though his aim remained steady. "Of course, Agent Reed," he mocked. "You only wanted me to think I was losing my _mind_. Nothing major." 

But she shook her head. "No," she insisted. "No, Michael. Lindsey was the one that commissioned the drug. And when it became clear I would have no choice but to play along, I brought Dr. Matthews into it. Just to make sure - " 

The revelation hit him like a punch to the gut. 

"David was in on this?" he repeated dully. 

Lauren took her chance, crossing the room in two strides and twisting his gun out of his hand. "_Listen_ to me," she hissed. "I stood by and watched so many times as you were hurt. I'm not just NSC, I'm a British Intelligence officer, you wolly! I am not a traitor!" 

She glared down at him, trembling with disgust. Not for him, but for herself. 

"The White House has suspected for years that Lindsey was corrupt," she spat, the words just just spilling out of her. "But they can't touch him. He's too highly ranked. I'm on loan to the States, Agent Vaughn, and I ultimately don't answer to your government. I was thus the perfect operative to use - " 

"To smoke him out," Vaughn finished. She nodded, even smiled a little. But he remained unmoved. 

"That doesn't explain why you betrayed _me_," he answered, coldly. "You _and_ David." 

"But we didn't," she rushed to explain. They probably only had moments remaining until agents alerted by the sensor alarms Sydney had set off arrived. 

She tucked the gun away, resting the powder packet on Vaughn's bed. And she pulled out a syringe. Immediately, he went to move away from her. Realizing his reflexive fear, she took a step back and held it straight up, making certain he could see that the IV feeder needle was still capped. _I'm not going to hurt you, Michael_, she tried to project. _Never again._

"I asked David for help," Lauren explained. Vaughn had yet to relax. "I told him what I had to give you. This was his intervention. The chemicals nullify the powder from your bloodstream and ensure that any effects ultimately fade away. When you thought he was knocking you out to escape PTSD dreams, the powder in the water you drank every night was what truly lowered your guard. The IV neutralized the drug's most harmful effects, and kept you under while it worked." 

He beckoned hesitantly, still eyeing the needle with alert wariness. She stepped toward him again and rested it carefully in his hand. _That explained the dreams._

"It takes some time to act," she continued, as he examined the syringe. "And sometimes - such as when you took a drink when Barnett was here - we couldn't give it to you. That's why you had an anxiety attack. But I _swear_, Michael, this was only temporary. I had hoped to include you in on this - " 

"But you didn't," he barked. She was telling the truth, he had realized. But she'd still _used_ him. 

She lowered her head, accepting the rebuke. "Kendall ordered my silence," she informed him, though she knew he would hardly change his mind and forgive her with that knowledge. "No one else here knew, Agent Vaughn. Just the three of us. And now you." _And Sydney, somehow_. 

Still staring at the clear-colored liquid inside the syringe, Vaughn didn't even look at her. "Get out." 

Lauren blinked the tears from her eyes, steeling her shoulders. She had one more task to complete first. 

Disgusted, Vaughn threw the needle away from him with all his strength. But it barely managed to clear the bed and land on the floor. 

"I told you to leave," he growled, pointedly studying the strands of hair lying on his blankets and not his still-apparent weakness. 

"I know," Lauren murmured. "Mich - Agent Vaughn, David did his best to clean the more long-term and harmful drug effects from your system. But parts of it still clearly linger, even though your physical wounds have all but healed. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I can help you. I can make it so you can get out of this bed and back to your life." 

He didn't reply, but she plowed on anyway. It was now or never. 

"Will you let me do that, Michael?"

* * *

"Langley just called," murmured one of the guards to his partner, outside Aaron's room. Will skidded to a halt, three coffee cups balanced in two hands. 

"Not again," she groused, shifting in position with a soft rustle of clothing. "Man, Vaughn just can't win." 

Will frowned, blue eyes wide with worry. _What happened to Vaughn?_

Dennis Fisher sighed. Justine Manning had been his partner for nearly twelve years. If he'd learned anything, he knew she had a tendancy to over-emphasize with complete strangers, and he hated to see her hurting. "It might be nothing. He could be getting tired of bedrest and just decided to stand up, even. Kendall reportedly had the motion sensors turned all the way up. We've tracked _flies_ using that." 

"Yeah," she grunted. They fell silent for a moment. 

Will leaned out as much as he dared, focusing intently on the two CIA agents watching over the Caplans. 

"That's a heartbreaker, what's gonna happen to him," she spoke up once more. "PTSD takes the best of them." 

Will winced as if struck. _Oh, God_, he moaned inwardly. _How'd Syd take the news_? He hardly knew Vaughn after all, though he admired the agent's decency and high moral standards. But Syd's happiness was tied to Vaughn's health of late. _She has to be heart-broken_. 

Dennis shook his head in agreement. "What gets me," he ranted quietly, "is that Agent Vaughn went through hell, and the CIA has nothing to show for it. We didn't get Sloane's location, or learn why Cole suddenly decided to join up. And don't get me started on Derevko. Those three have just vanished! Speaking for myself, if I had to go down, I'd want my sacrifice to mean something. I feel for the guy, I really do." 

Justine smiled to herself. Her partner pretended to be tough, but she could see through his cracks easily. "Sooner or later, they all slip up," she soothed, though they stood on opposite sides of the doorframe. 

Instincts telling him he'd heard everything he'd be able to, Will stepped casually around the corner, pace that of a man who had grabbed cups too hot and was trying to reach his destination as soon as possible. They nodded to him, Justine kind enough to grab the door. 

Elsa and Neil, dozing while they waited, rose when he entered. Both smiled their thanks as he handed them coffee. "How is he?" Will asked, glancing at Aaron. It was clear the sleeping family had not heard their guards. 

Aaron didn't stir, the bedcovers engulfing his tiny frame like a tent. 

But even as his parents gave Mr. Will happy-sounding responses, the little boy lay unblinking under the blankets, mind lost in a past that had returned to prominence as the Secret Agent Guards outside his door had talked. Vaughn had not been the only recent captive after all, and children's memories are far stronger than any adult's, even those with CIA training. Especially since spider venom had, for a short while, enhanced those memories even further. 

Dennis' answers were closer than he had yet to realize. 

**_  
- to be continued -_**

Hi. So. Remember when I said I'd never disappear for two months again? Well, in my defense, I haven't! That was three months! (Hardy har har!) 

And I know I'm a horrible, cruel, neglectful author, and for that I apologize. However, if you want to tell me you still kinda like me, I'm nominated for the following awards in the Alias Festival of Fiction. Your vote is welcome and appreciated at AliasFOF.com. :) 

- Outstanding Vaughn Characterization (Down the Barrel) 

- Outstanding Angst (On the Brink) 

- Outstanding Post-Ep/Missing Scene (To Serve and Protect) 

- Author 

- Outstanding Long Story (Surmising Alliances) 

- Outstanding Sydney/Vaughn Romance (Surmising Alliances) 

- Outstanding Characterization of a Supporting Character (Remembering 

What Was - Dixon) 

- Outstanding Work in Progress Story (Presages)

* * *

**_Review Responses_**

Linz: So you're trying the guilt method, oh? Well look, it worked! :P 

Tine: Your wish is my command. :) 

Poe baby: I see Irina and Katya as exact opposites, Truly fascinating - and played by 2 very good actresses. 

Al: Done. 

Maggieann452: Hope you enjoyed whatever else you read! 

Teaser: "Hi, Mr. Mike!" 

Eyghon: More is here! 

Kyla: Hope you liked it! 

Alexei04: Ouch. Hope you did okay on your research paper! lol 

Ginnie: Syd is back with all guns blazing - and as you read, she's only a little angry at dear Ms. Reed. ;) Of course, now the question is, should Vaughn trust Lauren? 

Agent Flamingo: Thanks! My fav part too, admittingly. 

MvsGirl: Welcome back. :) 

Ilovemypenguin: Hopefully their next reunion will be longer, for both their sakes. 

Kay10197: It feels like a long time since I've posted a chapter! Oh,wait… 

Sugarqube: Hopefully it didn't hurt Syd that much. lol 

valley-girl2: No, the italic part is new. :P And so, you don't like Lindsay? Why not? He's such a sweet guy! And I'm sure he'll eventually torture himself over missing Syd, but he's currently still in "Oh my God she was here!" euphoria. lol 

Raina: He certainly was tricked, but not by Syd. That dang Lauren, man. (And David, and Kendall, and Lindsay). 

Tash: 'Thoroughly confused' seems to be the trend, I dare say. 

Delordra: Well, they're making nice. Derevko style. ;) 

Kittyfantastico: You typed that out? Awwww. :hugs:   


**_Reviews (and votes) rock my world!_**

**__**


	59. Return to the Field

Info:

- **Title**: Presages (Part III)

- **Author**: A. Jinnie McManus

- **Rating**: PG-13 (strong)

- **Spoilers/Timeline**: Begins directly at the end of "A Free Agent." All episodes aired afterwards do not apply to this AU story, though some elements have been incorporated. Conversely, all elements prior to AFA, both on and off camera, fully apply to my plot. Spoilers for at least the episodes prior to AFA, and probably most after it.

- **Summary**: Love both condemns and conquers. AU from "A Free Agent" on. Prominent S/V, but otherwise ensemble fic.

- **Disclaimer**: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended.

- **'Ship**: S/V, J/I, some others.

- **Archiving**: Ask first. ****

**_Chapter Fifty Seven - Return to the Field_**

Lauren all but fell against the wall, shaking. Oblivious to the alarms, oblivious to the wild melee of agents summoned by Sydney's ambush charging in, she slid down the cool glass and sank to the tile floor.

And then David was there, eyes bloodshot and hair flying every which way.

"I know you were here, and they won't let me in the hospital wing until the building is secured again. What happened? How is he?" the doctor demanded. "Jack must've had Marshall marry my pager to the alarm system here. It's louder than Fourth of July fireworks. Scared the living hell outta me. It's a good thing I wasn't in surgery."

David ceased babbling, eyeing her in confused concern. She hadn't even blinked. "Agent Reed?" Out of habit, he knelt next to her, hand reaching for her wrist.

She pulled away from him, shaking her head slightly. "I told him," she forced out. "And I told him what I made you do."

He leaned away from her, closing his eyes briefly. When she'd come to him with such awful orders, he'd only wanted to help his patient. But he doubted his former partner's son would see it that way.

Tears filled Lauren's green eyes, and she hugged her arms close.

"What did he say?" David asked softly.

She flinched. "I offered… I offered to reverse the effects. Lindsey's fate is sealed once Washington reads my debrief, anyway. It's just caused too much pain, on his part… and yours."

He schooled his face into the most neutral of expressions. "And what'd he say?" he repeated, bracing himself.

* * *

"Jack did as you predicted," Katya gloated. 

The two sisters stood alone in one of the many rooms of the abandoned building, Sloane and Cole having been told to wait.

Irina crossed her arms over her chest, a faint smile crossing her features. "It's only a matter of time before Sydney comes here," she said to her older sister. "I want to be ready."

Katya played with the gun fixed in her wrist holster. "I very much want to meet my niece," she mused.

Irina remained silent. Katya eyed her curiously. "Is something wrong?"

Irina turned, heading back to the two men. "One wonders," she said as Katya fell into step with her "which niece you're referring to."

* * *

"Hi, Sweetheart," Sloane greeted softly, his wife's sleepy tone filling him with pleasure. Lord, how he loved that woman. 

_"Arvin?"_ she slurred tiredly, slowly waking up. _"How's window shopping?"_

They both chuckled at the play on words.

"I'm afraid the store I decided on is out of stock," Sloane answered, deftly moving into another part of the room as water dripped on his head. "But I am having them order out for me. I'll be home in a few days, I promise."

_"I love you,"_ she replied.

"You as well," he murmured fondly, picturing her barely awake, phone pressed to her ear. And he doubted she had ever looked so beautiful. "Sleep well."

* * *

He entered slowly, stumbling over his own feet. His hands shook. His back remained arched, nerves on high alert for anything out of the ordinary. 

Standing in the doorway of what had once been Syd and Francie's apartment, it was all Will could do to not collapse. The place had been tidied, though by the insurance company or CIA, he had no idea. The only sound was his ragged breathing.

If anything, that bothered him more.

Sydney's apartment had always been full of life. And to girls, he had learned, life was _loud_.

Numbly, his every move a bit behind, Will made his way to the couch and collapsed upon it. He closed his eyes, shaking. In between being a stoic resource for Sydney, and everything with Vaughn, and watching Aaron, he hadn't time to truly grieve.

But now he did.

Shamelessly, Will curled himself into a ball, dully recognizing the two womens' perfumes embedded in the cushions. And then he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Something was different. Sensing the movement surrounding him, Vaughn instinctively kept his eyes closed. 

But _something_ was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it felt as though a long-standing fog over his mind had been lifted.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

He'd certainly laid in bed long enough for ten lifetimes. All noise in his room ceased when he opened his eyes and sat up - only to immediately stagger as long-dormant muscles protested against his sudden movement.

But even that felt normal. Stopping him now wasn't lack of will, just simple, ordinary weakness resulting from formerly serious injuries. He couldn't remember a time when he had welcomed such feelings. Did it hurt? Absolutely. But it also made him feel human again.

"Easy, Mike," Weiss said from somewhere next to him. Hands planted on his shoulders, trying to lay him back down. "Relax, buddy. We'll get out of here and let you rest, all right?"

His friend waved his hand in the direction of the investigating agents, dismissing them. They dispersed slowly, Marshall lingering long enough to ensure the cameras were operational before ducking out the door with an awkward wave in Vaughn's direction.

Vaughn shook his head, waiting to remember how to breathe again, which wasn't easy since he had been suffering from, among other things, a punctured lung. His recovery wasn't miraculously sudden by any stretch of imagination. Rather, he felt as though Lauren's previous drugs had prevented parts of his body from notifying his brain they were whole once more. Whatever she had done to him after Sydney's visit was enough to restore lines of communication. Parts of him, like his back, _were_ still far from stellar, but enough of his body was back to how it should have been months ago.

Again, Weiss tried to ease him back down onto his heavily-pillowed bed. But Vaughn resisted the pull, something that immediately caught Eric's attention, rising his hopes. Before, the younger man could barely raise his head on his own.

"Eric," Vaughn started, his breaths gradually stabilizing.

Weiss waited, removing his hands from Mike's shoulders and folding them over his chest.

"I need to speak with Dr. Matthews."

"Can I ask why?" Eric cocked an eyebrow, inwardly amused. Michael Vaughn was either at death's door, or trying to find the most precarious threshold to cross over. There was no in-between. Especially since he had met Sydney.

Vaughn raised his head, meeting Eric's silent challenge unhesitatingly. "Because I want to wear pants again," he shot back, his once-again clear green eyes saying everything else.

* * *

Sydney was not accustomed to feeling out of the loop. And she didn't like it one bit. 

The sun rose, bathing her in golden rays as she knelt in Emily's garden, tending carefully to the prized plants. Vaguely, she realized what she was doing exuded normalcy. She had spent the last few years of her life wanting nothing more. A spy she may be, but she was hardly an adrenaline addict.

But she did share a few characteristics with her counterparts. Sense of duty, of course, which was why she was here. But most of all, she valued and collected knowledge.

Which was her main problem, she realized. For days, she hadn't had any.

Vaughn's condition had been maddeningly unknown to her. Sloane had disappeared, her mother with him. The Rambaldi weapon remained out of sight. Lately, it seemed every one of her goals was at a standstill. To add insult to injury, Sark had properly moved away from her to accept a phone call, so she couldn't hear it.

She had no doubt her father and Kendall were closely monitoring Sark's conversation back home, but Sydney still blew out a breath, waiting patiently for the right moment to act. _I'm not going to sit here and do nothing!_

She reached over, carefully tending to one rose a bit out of reach. She could feel Sark's eyes on her and thus spent several more moments playing with the soft, silky petals with one hand, steadying herself with the other.

The sun continued to rise and the air around her cooled slightly as shadows asserted themselves around the garden walls, seemingly caressing her lithe form. Sydney hid a smile. _Finally._

Still balanced haphazardly on one arm, her back to Sark, Sydney tipped her free hand toward the ground, allowing the slender black device she had secreted there to slip down and nest in her palm. She then tossed her head, insuring her gleaming hair fell in waves over her shoulders - and hid the dark, wireless earpiece she'd already set in place in her left earlobe.

* * *

Growing up, Will couldn't remember a time when he didn't want to be a reporter. 

Journalists had always seemed to him more heroic than any comic book drawing. The fictional characters merely ran around in tights, journalists were tasked with doing everything they could to keep the public informed. No matter what they sacrificed in the process.

A lesson he had learned the hard way.

Though his concern for a friend had ended his journalistic pursuits, life as an analyst for the CIA had only sharpened his perceptive capabilities. To the point his brain never stopped turning, even in sleep.

Unconsciously, Will curled in tighter on the couch as his mind worked. Aaron's feverish cries echoed in tandem with his overheard conversation between the two agents guarding the little boy's room. Each memory moved as a snapshot, each frame flowing in a continuous circle of light, speeding up as it went along to create an undeniable connection…

Gasping, Will jerked awake, mind dully cataloguing Francie's favorite perfume as it caressed the thinning couch cushions.

For just a moment, his grief returned. All he could see was her. All he could taste was her. All he wanted was her.

And then, almost as a gift from the outside, his mind cleared. He sat up in one swift motion, his breathing quickening.

Sydney was on a mission to track down Sloane and find the Rambaldi weapon. Until she did, she couldn't come home. She _wouldn't_ come home.

But he knew how to get her home safely. _He knew how to find both._

* * *

He was a man on a mission. 

David moved swiftly through the hallways, with nary a courtesy nod in Amélie's direction. His heart was in his throat. He hadn't felt this way since being sent to the principal's office as a child, and he certainly wasn't enjoying his blast from the past!

His patient was waiting for him, leaning back bonelessly against his numerous pillows. But when David entered, the restored alertness in the kid's green eyes swept over him like an accusing cloud. For a moment, Vaughn's heart monitor was the only sound in the suddenly cramped room.

"You're looking better," the doctor spoke finally, when it became clear the younger man was waiting for him to begin their conversation.

"Normally, I'd thank my doctor for that," came the prompt retort.

Point taken. David hid a wince. He hadn't given Vaughn anything harmful, especially in comparison to Lauren, but he had still drugged the man against his will. And this time, it hadn't been for what Vaughn would concede to be benevolent reasons.

"Was nothing true?" Vaughn cut in, interrupting David's thoughts.

David opened his mouth, then closed it. What he needed to say fled his tongue. He could regain William's son's trust easily, but that would require bringing back demons he had taken decades to bury.

And though he knew Vaughn deserved straight answers, he simply couldn't do so. Blame it on PTSD, blame it on simple cowardice, but he _could not_ say the words.

_I'm sorry, William. _

So instead he lowered his eyes, allowing a self-deprecating chuckle to escape, watching through thick lashes as the kid's eyes hardened. The moment for truth was gone. Both men knew it would never occur again.

* * *

Amélie was accustomed to spending life in the dark. After all, she was the wife and mother of two decorated Intelligence operatives. And she knew that, if she had a choice, she would be like most people and choose to remain ignorant of the world's evils. The barely-hidden torment in William's eyes and the shadows on Michel's face all but ensured that. If it didn't concern her family personally, she was fine not knowing. 

She sat on a bench inside Medical, more than a little confused and anxious. Moments before she had arrived, after her son had been reported endangered by an intruder, Agent Reed - the sweet, young agent who had been the only person willing to answer her queries about her son - had simply fled past her without a word. Her eyeliner had run down her face like black tears. It was enough to send chills down Amélie's back.

And then David had headed the opposite direction, towards her ailing son, just as swiftly. Like Agent Reed, he hadn't even looked her way.

Something was happening. And that something concerned her _mon petit_.

* * *

"I keep an extra set of clothes in my bottom desk drawer," Vaughn said, voice utterly conversational. 

David sighed. Vaughn wanted them to act as a proper doctor and patient and well, so be it. He was a damn good doctor.

"Look, ki - Agent Vaughn, I understand your eagerness to return to the field, especially after some… mistaken diagnoses were recently discovered," David nearly took a step back at the look of genuine incredulity Vaughn shot his way. Somehow, he stood his ground and continued. "But, and I'm saying this as a doctor with forty years of experience, you're not ready yet."

Cheeks flushing, Vaughn started to interrupt -

"Things go up before they come down," David pressed on. "What and how you're feeling now won't last." He forced himself to look Vaughn in the eyes. "I wouldn't call it withdrawal… but you'll know when your body expects another dose."

But Vaughn wouldn't be deterred. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he challenged coolly. "How do I know this isn't just yet another NSC manipulation?"

And once again, David found the truth on the tip of his tongue. There was so much the kid didn't know!

And once again, he faltered. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, leaning against one of the metal sides to Vaughn's cot. What he was about to say wasn't a lie - but it wasn't true either.

* * *

Will rose from the couch and nearly tripped over his own feet as he headed for the door, one shaking hand fumbling for his phone. 

"Yes, hi," he stuttered, starting his engine. "I know visiting hours are over for the night, but I'm a CIA analyst and I need to meet with Aaron Caplan right away."

They might have replied, they might not. Regardless, Will cut the connection and backed out of the driveway. Tires squealed as he raced to begin his efforts.

* * *

Amélie jumped up as Michel's door opened. "David, I understand doctor confidentiality, but - " 

Her voice died in her throat. Her son stepped out, straightening his tie, with David following silently. Vaughn looked at her, surprised.

But not as surprised as she was. "What's going on?" she asked warily.

David took a deep breath. He'd grown fond of Amélie. Vaughn may have been his patient but she was a dear friend, and what he was about to say would end that immediately.

Vaughn watched the two of them, noting the pain on his doctor's face and the responding nervousness in his widowed mother. Who had been through hell because of him. The decision was easy to make. "David says I'm not a hundred percent, but I'm getting there," he told her, cutting the man off as he was beginning his confession. "It's about time I started earning my paycheck."

David studied the back of Vaughn's head, swallowing the lump in his throat. It seemed for this, anyway, their intentions matched. Amélie had been through enough. _I won't forget this, kid._

"That's wonderful!" Amélie gushed, stepping forward and enveloping her much taller son in a firm hug. She closed her eyes in thanks for the moment, cherishing the feeling of his strong arms around her.

He may not have been telling her the whole truth, that was obvious. But just by holding him, she could feel his restored energy. That was enough for her. "So," she beamed. "What's next?"

He smirked down at her, making no move to pull away. They were alone in the hallway, anyway. "Actually," he answered, looking over her head to David, "is it too late to talk to Aaron?"

The doctor accepted the unspoken truce, checking his watch. "No," he said after a moment. "Why?"

"I have a hunch."

**- to be continued, and this time in less than a month, or 5 months -**

Review Responses

For the record, I'm a horribly mean person and all my readers (meaning youuuuu!) are more wonderful and lovely and good and kind and generous than I will ever deserve. How else can I thank you for your kindness during my…winces… 5 month holiday?

For my American readers, I wish you the happiest of Thanksgivings. For everyone else, I wish you a happy day! And I **will** see you again before Christmas. If not with this story, than possibly another (see my website in my Profile for teasers).

Also, just a reminder: I'm a paying author, so it'd probably be a good idea to add me to your Author Alerts list. It's free, and it'll make sure you get an email the moment I update here.

You can find that option in the same place you click to leave a review. O÷)

Shawna: :hugs:

Kittyfantastico: Okay, I admit I ended up with several noms and no wins or finalist-ists, but that's totally okay. I mean, the other names are so amazing, I was just touched people thought I could be among them!

Raina: Nope, Lauren tricked Vaughn into thinking he has PTSD with David's help.

Liz9: I updated again! lol. Thanks for brightening my evening with a review!

Kay10197: Yeah, sorry about that. But if it helps, I go through and re-read my own story all the time, too. We can share cushions.

Tine: Thanks so much!

Ilovemypenguin: Did you hear we have an airdate? Jan 5, two hour premiere! And then it will air after Lost.

Daisyduke947: Thanks! And I updated soon…ish!

Sugarqube: Please don't be sad! You know, I should do cliff notes of this thing to help y'all when I disappear. Heh.

Sobee1982: You thought this was a Sarkney? Welllllll, they do kiss… ;) Aaron's dream is very important, as you'll see next chapter. And Sark's thingy (technical term!) does still work, but it's very frustrating to Sydney, since she can't use it. Only those back in LA can. I remember your email, thanks! And yup,To Serve and Protect was me. Glad you liked!

Grouchy: Hopefully not 'cause of my story! (Awful pun!)

kriz-te: She did sneak away, but then she… didn't. More later. Thanks so much!

valley-girl2: I confess, I liked beating up on Lauren, too. ;) Long is one of those interpretive words, right? Vaughn did let her, but the question becomes, with David's warnings, did he make the right decision? Did she have the right reasons? Etc. lol. The teaser is next, I swear.

Babsi: It sounds so mean, but I love it when people say that! Means I'm doing my job! So thanks! :D : Awwww, I love marathon readers. Lemme get you cushion, too.

Amy: Your review seriously made my day. I have a few slots on my LJ open, I'd love to add you. What's your username? Hope springs eternal indeed - especially since I can say, with all my knowledge and with utter honesty, SEASON FOUR KICKS ASS. Can't wait for January!

Heralditalia: Why hello, fellow VTHo! Hee.

Catfishally: You're too sweet, thanks for your kind words! I'm waiting with baited breath to see if you liked this long-overdue chapter as much!

Debz-Hidden-Obsession: It had to do some character stuff first, but now it's back to driving toward the end. Driving fast. I hope!

Fair Cate: Update, as ordered! 785! It's really just mind-blowing, I love my readers so much!

Ginnie: Welcome back to you as well, hope everything with your connection is back to normal! I knew all along. ;) What IS Syd doing with Sark? Teehee.

rainluver : Soon!

Bri: A LOT, YES, MAYBE. :whistles:

oOspuffy4everOo: Ouch, lemme get you a cushion too! Your longest review? I'm honored, thank you!__

_____Until next time… _


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